Russian Compromise
by rosecat13
Summary: Emily is a girl scraping just to get by in a small Russian town after moving from America. Even though her mother has died very recently, she's determined to keep going. But when a boy with a purple eyes gets involved, things start to get complicated.
1. Just A Day

Hetalia and all characters in that fandom belong to Himaruya

The general gist: a girl named Emily catches the eye of Ivan Braginski (the personification of Russia) and he decides to do something about it. Maybe a little bit more than just, 'something'.

Translations:

Уважаемые=dear

мой драгоценный дорогой= my darling precious

bonsoir= goodnight

* * *

ONE

It was just another day to me. The Sun was half-hidden behind some clouds, making it just bright enough to have to shield your eyes from it when you looked up. The dead grass below was stiff with frost, but it was almost December; it wasn't unusual at all.

I was optimistic and smiling, ready for anything. My pedaling matched my face; confident and fast, even had a light sort of bounce to it. Today was a new day, after all. No matter what had happened before, there was always the next day, reliable, accountable.

The market was just a few miles away, and knowing this I closed my eyes and tried to bathe in the rays of the Sun. I knew fully well that it wasn't really possible, and all that I was accomplishing was letting the wind get a better shot at stinging my face. But I didn't really mind at all. It was a balmy sixty-three degrees Fahrenheit, a great day to go out cycling to get my food for the coming week.

Some wisps of hair escaped the old knit hat I had, and I pushed my hands off the rusty handlebars to put them back into place. I nudged the brown hairs under the hem and realized my ears were a little too chilled for my comfort.

I zoomed through the busiest part of town and hear everyone speaking to each other in little snippets-

"Good morni-"

"Excuse me ma'am I-"

"How are you sweethe-"

"Mama please!-"

-as the cold air reddened my nose.

I stopped over by the brick wall near the church and parked my bike. I knew most of the people in the town, and they knew me. Although I hadn't come back to Russia greeted with open arms, I trusted them enough to not take my property.

I grabbed the basket with my money in it and ran over to the loudest part of the market where the shops were dense with people and goods.

"Emily!"

I whirled my head around to see my friend at his stand. "Morning!" I beamed. "Have any oat bread today? I just ran out."

"Of course, Уважаемые. Here you go."

I gave him the cash that was required and smiled as I saw that it was still steaming. "Ah, Luka, how do you do it?" I asked, inhaling the intoxicating scent.

"Old family recipe. All the way back to my great-great-grandmother."

I replied warmly, "She did a wonderful job."

He smiled as I made my way over to Anessa, who was, as always, out selling the best eggs I had ever tasted.

"Morning!" I yelled over the din.

She smiled softly and said, "Seven as usual, right?"

I nodded. I paid for the eggs with the rest of the money I had brought.

She stated, "That's too much, dearie."

"What?" I had counted out exactly how much I had needed before leaving home. I never miscounted! Then I saw her hand back half the money and understood what she really meant. "I-I-I can't accept that."

She gave me her best Anessa-look and I had no choice but to receive the money with the most grateful look I could muster.

"Your mother and you helped my Frezna when she caught that horrible cough," she smiled gently, "It's only right of me to try and help you."

I hugged her over the counter, then put the eggs into the basket and shuffled through a denser part of the market. I had all I needed; it was time to try and get to the small stall where I made a living selling flowers.

I pushed through the crowd, smiling at the townspeople I crossed. Some gave me hard stares, others sympathetic looks. I got a few small greetings as I settled into my spot, but no one was particularly talkative around me. Since I wasn't fluent in Russian, it made sense. I wouldn't be able to hold what they defined as an 'intelligent' conversation. Or at least a fluent Russian conversation that didn't center around what flowers I had for sale that day.

I sat inside the stall, renewing a hopeful smile. A couple people passed by. One bought a rose. I took the couple rubles with a grin. Maybe I could go back to Anessa and try to give her back some of the money she had refused to accept earlier.

I took a couple tulips, one was striped red and white, the other a bright yellow. If she wouldn't accept my money, maybe she'd accept the flowers. I stepped out of my stall and onto the street, the colors of the flowers seeming to radiate through the cold gloom.

A moment later I felt a hand on my left arm and spun to see who it was. Immediately I was greeted by a familiar hug.

"Francis!" I embraced my friend, careful not to crush the flowers. "How are you?"

He laughed, wavy blonde hair glinting in the cold light, "I'm fine. I see you've gotten what you need. But you're missing something,"

I looked to my basket to see if anything was gone, "What?"

He held out a bright green apple. "I know it's been tough for you lately. I know you'll get through it. But in the meantime, I can give you this!"

"Francis…" I re-hugged him, closing my eyes and taking in the comfort that he was giving me. I'd need the feeling of safety later, when I knew I'd be alone and cold.

"No problem," he replied, ruffling my hair. "I've got to get home… I'll see you later?"

I smiled, "Sure Francis. Bye!"

"Bonsoir!"

I scanned the crowd to see my friend disappear into the mass of people, and turned to continue on to Anessa.

She was humming to herself, adjusting some cartons of eggs on the counter. I crouched and ran to be right in front of the stand so I could not be seen, and slowly raised the flowers over the counter.

"Oh my…"

I smiled to myself as the blooms were plucked from my hands. I stood up fully, seeing her admiring the brightly colored flowers.

"They're for you, Anessa… thank you for everything." She hugged me over the counter, smothering me in her maternal fashion. I closed my eyes and leaned into the embrace, remembering my own mother.

She drew back, setting the two tulips on the counter carefully. "Frenza will love these."

"I know she likes yellow," I replied happily. "And you love the red and white ones."

Anessa sighed happily and stroked one of the petals. "She says it reminds her of the sunshine."

It was so nice to hear of a mother talk about their daughter so freely. I nodded respectfully, "I must be on my way. Thanks again, and I'll see you soon."

She smiled, dismissing me with a wave.

I jogged off to where my bike was leaning on a wall. I saw someone near the wall, glancing at it. I was immediately suspicious of him. He was maybe a year or two older than I was. His eyes seemed sort of shifty, and looking at anyone's bike wasn't a good place to lay your eyes; especially if it was mine. They didn't make any move to try to take it or even get closer to it if he was planning to make off with it. He just eyed it carefully.

He had a long scarf and what looked to be a very warm tannish coat on. I envied him a bit, being able to have a nice coat like that. 'Just keep walking,' I told myself. 'It's just a boy.'

I got close to the wall and couldn't help but slow down just the littlest bit to get a bit of a closer look at him. The face was calm, composed; as if he was trying not to show emotion. His stance was very straightforward and his legs seemed to be locked. His eyes weren't dull, but seemed to be restrained-

'I can see his eyes. He can see mine. I'm looking in his eyes. That means he's looking in mine.'

-I fumbled out of thought and looked down at my shoes, still going towards my bike. I put the basket on the right handlebar and mounted, kicking the kickstand out from under it.

The boy was motionless.

I glanced back for a short moment, only to see that he made complete eye contact, vivid purple eyes staring curiously into mine.

'Those eyes…'

I was haunted by the visage of the strange boy long after I returned home. I had placed the groceries in their proper places, and debated whether or not to devour the apple for a while. There was nothing else to do in the old house… empty save for me.

I closed my eyes and felt a cold chill come into the house. I grabbed a blanket off a wooden chair, and kneeled on the ground next to the hearth.

I stoked the fire a bit to make sure that it hadn't run out of wood. It was going to be a harsh winter, and I couldn't have myself being cold this early. It was even December yet and I was already worried about running out of wood. Now that Mother was gone… no…. I couldn't think about that right now. I have to stay strong, for her. She'd want me to move on.

I heard a knock on my door. I stood, shaking my head of the unwanted thoughts and leaned my ear against the door cautiously. "Hello?"

"It's Francis! Could I come in?"

I opened the door and let him in before hurriedly closing it again, trying to keep out the rapidly dropping temperature. "Hey…"

"Surprise," he said gently as I saw he was carrying at least twenty pounds of firewood.

I was speechless. "F-F-Francis… I… I…"

He set it down next to the makeshift hearth and heaved a large log onto the dying flame. "You really don't think I'm going to let you go cold, do you? Can't have an Emily-cicle left over from winter in the springtime!"

I smiled and held back tears of relief, and hugged him tight.

"So," he continued, patting me lightly on the back, "how was your day at the market?"

"Anessa only let me pay for half the eggs," I admitted to him. "And Luka gave me the biggest, freshest loaf of oat bread he had. Francis, I feel like I'm taking advantage of everybody…"

"Let them take care of you," he said, leading me down to sit by the fire now that the new log had caught flame. "You're too strong, Emily. You are but a fragile human…you give, but you never take. So this time, you need to take a little bit. Learn to do that."

"That's not what she would want," I squeezed my eyes shut, "she would want me to fend for myself."

"Your mother would want you to do the best that you could, and you are. You're just getting a little bit of help, too."

I felt the warmth of the room around me getting stronger by the second. "Thanks for the firewood. I don't know what I'm going to do. I need to find the old axe Mother used to say was around here somewhere…" I looked around the desolate house. There was no place to hide it if it was even here. I wiped a couple of stray tears from my cheek.

"You can always borrow mine," he hugged me from the side.

I stammered, "I-I owe you so much already."

You don't owe me anything, Emilia. Never."

My train of thought switched onto another track, "I saw an odd boy after you left."

His eyes sparkled, "Ah, you did? Did he talk to you?"

"No… but he kinda scares me. He just… stood there."

Francis's eyebrows furrowed. "That's unusual to say the least. Why didn't he do anything?"

"I don't know," I said, trying to reenact the scene in my mind. "I'm not even sure if he was really looking at me, or just at my bike. Looked like he wanted to steal it."

"Did he try to take it?"

"Well… no. But I was right there, he wouldn't have tried anyways."

"Did he make eye contact with you?"

"Oh yeah," I replied, eyes wide, "When I was biking home he looked right in my eyes. But he just stood there. Didn't say a thing, or even move."

"Odd." He sat there for a moment, scratching his chin. "Well, I have to be heading home before it gets too cold. Enjoy the firewood, Emily."

"I will," I reassured him, and I watched him walk home until an evening mist swallowed my friend up.

I let the wood burn in the hearth and curled up under a few old quilts and moth-eaten blankets in front of the flame. I tried to let the warmth in, but the coldness of the house was being fed by the darkening sky outside. I shivered; and drifted off into a numb sleep.

The next day I woke up, stretching myself and getting rid of the crust that had gathered in the corners of my eyes. Another morning.

I folded up my blankets with the utmost care and put them carefully in the corner farthest from the door. I had to keep everything where it needed to be. I couldn't afford to lose, misplace, or damage anything. Selling the flowers was barely getting me by, and although I was scrambling to find a new job the places offering employment didn't want to take me in because of my lack of language skills.

I kneeled in front of the chest that used to be my mother's, and kissed the top of the painted wood, tears dripping down my face. "Good morning, Mom. I'm doing well. Francis gave me some firewood last night. The flower selling is going well. I love you very much, and I'll see you after work."

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the cool wood, then stood up and faced the door. I grasped my bike leaning up against the wall, took it outside, and jumped onto it. I pedaled to the market, going straight to my stand. I waited for customers with a half smile and rubbed my shoulders as a cold wind whipped lightly over me. I pulled my coat closer and my cap tighter around my head, wishing that it would never be below seventy degrees ever again.

The days passed slowly, with a certain rhythm not unlike my own heartbeat. In, out, sunrise, sunset, midnight, noon, sell some here, sell some there, get by, keep going, keep going, keep going.

I was walking down one of the long asphalt streets when something caught the corner of my eye. I turned, and saw a ruble lying on the road, abandoned. I waited for a couple seconds, making sure that I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. The smile I found myself showing almost cracked my face in half as I rushed over and picked up the note.

"I believe I just dropped that." I heard a voice as I looked over the money. I jerked my head up to make eye contact with whomever was trying to take the ruble that I had rightfully found.

"It was just on the ground," I replied. "For at least a minute… it's fair game."

"Perhaps where you come from, any old urchin can pick it off the street, but here if someone says it's their money, it's theirs."

I grit my teeth, "I'm sorry, Sir." Some of them were so coarse to me. I didn't know what they had against my heritage specifically, but it seemed as if I insulted them by just being there. I passed him the ruble.

"I thought I saw the young lady pick that up first, da?"

Not another person to cause me issues… I turned my head to see the man that I had seen a couple days prior.

The man holding the ruble shook a bit and replied in Russian, "A-ah, yes…"

"You should give it back to her, da?" the other smiled in a far too innocent way for such a big man.

The one holding the ruble nodded mutely and passed me the money with trembling hands. I took it quietly, whispering a small 'thank you' to him. He made himself scarce, probably because of the extended presence of the man who had gotten me back the money.

I looked to him. "Thank you, Sir."

He gave me a short nod. "Be more careful, da?"

I showed a small smile. "I'll try."

~o~

After a night filled with empty dreams, I felt a freezing hand on my shoulder.

"Francis…?"

I got no reply, and opened crust-covered eyes to see a figure I did not know being hazily outlined in some sort of fuzz.

"Who are you?"

Purple eyes appeared brighter than before. It was the man from the market.

"What are you doing in my house?" I demanded, still lying prone on the ground. I noticed a growing cold around me and looked to see that the fire had gone out a while ago. No embers were even glowing.

I licked my freezing lips and prepared to ask another question when the boy laid another hand on me. It was on my arm this time, and it was ice cold.

I shivered at his touch. "Let go."

"But you interest me… what are you doing out here, all alone? Why did you not fight for the money, da?"

"Get away." I was still too groggy to take a full scope of the issue. There was an uninvited man in my house. A man whom I did not know. He should not know where I am or how to get here. He should not be able to unlock a deadbolt from the outside of a door. I forced my eyes to open wider despite the urge to huddle further into the blankets and ignore him completely. "Get out. Of. My house."

"Go back to sleep, da," he said softer than expected.

I studied him for a moment and then realized I was having a dream. "Ah. A dream."

The man looked confused.

"You're a figment of my imagination," I almost giggled, noticing the lack of feeling in my fingers.

"Yes, I am," the dream-man admitted. "Now sleep."

"Um… okay…" I drifted off into a dreamland within a dreamland. "Goodnight."

"Dobyre noche."

~o~

I started seeing the man with purple eyes more around the market. I was probably being paranoid, or just seeing things. But it did seem as if he was around more often.

I mean… he had shown up in my dreams one night. That alone was cause for some sort of alarm, right?

Every day I repeated the routine of selling flowers, eating the lunch I bought from a man at the end of the street who knew a bit of English, and had a small conversation about how life was going for him and his family. Then I'd head back to the stand, sell until dinner, and head home.

I was sitting on my stool, humming a nameless song to myself while I rewatered the daylilies near the back of the stall.

"Do you have any sunflowers?"

My brow furrowed, 'English?' and I looked over my shoulder to see the man with the purple eyes. I replied in Russian, "Sorry sir, but I do not."

His face fell a bit.

"I have others though!" I scrambled back to the front of the stall, reverting to English. "There's plenty here…"

A small chuckle escaped him. "It is fine. I was just wondering, da?"

I watched him as he stepped away and into the crowd, quickly blurring into the people that inhabited the busy street. I spent the rest of the day thinking of where I might find some sunflowers, and if I had time to go and find some. After all, if he was willing to pay for them, the time and effort would be worth it.

I headed home and stoked the fire with the wood Francis had given me. I thanked him silently as I kneeled in front of my mother's chest to say my goodnights to the world, and went to bed.

~o~

I yawned and opened my eyes, an unlikely warmness coming over me. 'The fire,' I remembered, and thanked Francis thousands of times over in my mind. I don't know what I'd do without him.

I got up, still hugging one of the blankets around me. I padded across the weathered wood floor to get to my Mother's old oak chest.

I opened it; tears going down my face as I lifted her old coat from it.

'If anything happens to me,' she had said, 'it's yours. The house, my clothes, everything. You're all I have, мой драгоценный дорогой."

Her voice seemed to echo through the desolate house. The stone of the hearth was ashy and unkept even though I tried to clean it every day. My bed was nothing more than a bag stuffed with straw in the far corner of the room. This was all she could give to me. This shack of a place, the best we could afford when we heard there was more of a chance that she could find work in Russian than she could in the states. We had packed up and left immediately, a small ember of hope coming to our lives.

I looked to the chest; intricately painted with rich colors that had been scratched and worn but still showed a sheen of greatness to them. This chest was her. Not the soulless house. This chest and her warm winter coat and her precious white candle she lit twice a year: once on her birthday, once on mine. All of her old clothes; skirts and shirts and pants for all seasons that I might fit into now that I was older, an adult. This was her.

I inhaled her smell, remembering everything I ever knew about my mother. Her blue eyes that never matched mine, her long brown hair, her cooking, and her love for her only daughter and sole child. How she fought for me, took care of me, did her best for me. I let all my memories loose, filling me with that feeling of affection that I had missed in the weeks after she had passed away. I whispered to the clothes, "I'm trying, Mother… I'll do the best I can… I'll get through this…"

"Nostalgia?" I heard a voice that wasn't familiar.

I gasped immediately and clung to her coat. "Who are you?"

No one answered. Had it just been my imagination? Maybe.

I put on her coat. It was a light blue, worn around the elbows and the ends of the sleeves, but made of a warm fleece. The buttons were old and cracked, but I didn't mind as long as they did their job.

'I should go thank Francis for the firewood' I thought guiltily. I had nothing in return for him.

Then I thought of a game the two of us used to play when we were young. We'd sing a song and spin in circles and laugh. The words came back quickly and clearly to the forefront of my mind:

'Over golden sun and silver moon,

In misty midnight and ever lightened noon,

Forever we turn,

Faster and faster,

For the stars are we;

The faster we spin,

Over and over,

The brighter the heavens will be'

I hummed the familiar tune to myself and started to spin in a circle on an almost subconscious level, clutching my hands to my chest.

I'd play the game with him in the meadow like we used to. That could be my gift to him.

It had gotten down to thirty degrees the previous night and the world was still recovering from the previous day. I made sure all the buttons on my Mother's coat were buttoned before heading out on my bicycle to town where Francis lived.

I still had my hat on from the previous day, taking note of how bad my hair was going to be tangled when I was able to get a comb through it. Then again, I was going to Francis's; combing my hair wasn't a big deal. He didn't care how I looked.

The coat stopped the wind from chilling my body even though the air stung my cheeks and nose. I rushed into town, trying not to get caught up in conversations or the overall hustle and bustle of the place. I hurried over to Francis's house, leaning my bike haphazardly against the side of it.

Before I knocked on the door I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see that some guy was trying to steal my bike!

"_Hey!"_ I broke into a sprint to try and match their speed and shouted in Russian,_"Come back here!"_

They wove in and out of buildings and up and down roads. It was getting harder and harder for me to follow.

Then they made a wrong turn and backed themselves into an alley.

"Give me back my bike," I said sternly, trying not to gasp for air.

They didn't move; turning as still as a gargoyle.

"Give it back! I need it." Maybe they didn't understand how important it was to me. It was my only mode of transportation in and out of the town.

They dismounted the bike and I was able to notice it was a man. He looked up to meet eyes with me and I saw that strange purple color in his irises. It was the man who likes sunflowers, the one who made sure I got the ruble the week prior. The one with the enviable coat and the platinum hair… the one that had visited me in my dreams.

"Who are you?" I asked, almost hissing.

He stated, "Obviously, you know who I am."

"Your name." I was in no mood for whatever games he was trying to play.

A look of intrigue crossed his face, "Come closer, da."

I automatically responded, "No."

"Why not?" he chuckled. "We've met before… talked… why not be comfortable, da? We are… acquaintances or sorts." I saw in a shadowed part of his face something that wasn't meant to be seen. Not sinister exactly, but playfully… mean.

I took a deep breath and strode towards him. When we were face to face, I took the bike from him. He gave me no resistance; just a smile that made me shiver.

As I went to leave the alley, a hand on my shoulder that made my eyes go wide. Ice cold.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" I found myself whispering at the familiar touch.

I felt his breath on the back of my neck as he said, "No, it wasn't."


	2. Cold Cells and Confusion

Translations:

Gott sei mit dir= god be with you

Doitsu: Germany

Italia=Italy

проклятие= damn it

* * *

TWO

What happened after that is something I'm not even sure of today. I remember his other hand grabbing my wrist, my bike falling…

I remember something hitting me on my head. Not what it was, or how it even got in his hand (I'm sure he was the one that did it) but just that it hurt and that everything went out in a flash of black.

~o~

I awoke a bit cold and barely able to lift my head. I put the poor thing in-between my hands, trying not to hiss at the pain and ignore the feeling of semi-sticky old blood that was now matted in my hair. I gulped and felt the icy stone floor beneath me.

'Where am I?' I asked myself, trying to stand up but finding out I was much too dizzy to do so. "Ugh…"

"Doitsu?" A small voice came from somewhere around me. Why were they speaking so loudly? "Doitsu?"

"I-I'm not Doitsu," I replied, struggling to keep my voice even. "I'm Emily."

A hazy figure came closer. It was a boy, deep red-brown hair with a single unruly curl. "Ve- I'm Italia!"

"Ah…" I groaned. Much too loud.

He immediately apologized and continued, "You said you were Emily? Why did Russia bring you here?"

"Russia?" I asked, bewildered.

"Si, Russia."

"I don't know who that is."

His brown eyes widened, "But he brought you here."

"You mean the man with the brown coat and scarf?"

Italia nodded.

"I d-don't know… he tried to steal my bike…"

"Emily, I'm afraid!" Sure enough he had begun to tear up. "I don't want Russia to hurt me! I want Doitsu!"

"Don't worry," I said, taking him into my arms. "I'm here."

This was what I was good at. Comforting. It made me feel useful somehow. And there in that dark room with the boy I started to feel that much better despite the throbbing in the back of my skull.

"I won't let him hurt you, Italia."

He said, "But he hurt you. You're all red. If he can hurt you, then if you try to protect me, he'll hurt both of us."

My mind flickered back to the sense-numbing blow to my head. "Well he's not going to again. And he's not going to hurt you. Why would he? Did you do anything wrong?"

He didn't answer my questions, but instead smiled and further snuggled into me, falling asleep. "Ve…ve…ve…"

I smiled, despite the man's suspicious presence. He acted like he was so young. Who was this 'Doitsu' he had been talking about? And why was he here?

It was too dark in this cell, too cold for the man I comforted. He didn't belong here, obviously. Then again, I didn't think I belonged here either. I spent what was maybe five minutes and maybe an hour stroking his hair soothingly as he slept. "Shh… shh Italia… it's going to be okay…" I bit my lip, knowing that I wasn't sure of anything at this point. "It all turns out right in the end, I promise."

~ o~

When I woke up I was lying on the ground alone.

Fear ran through me. Where was Italia? Was he alright? I tried to stand but found that I was far too dizzy to attempt standing and instead settled for slowly turning around. He was pacing around the room without any other sort of purpose.

"What are you doing?"

"Doitsu says it's important to stay strong, so I walk and try to do push-ups for him, ve," he said, walking over to me. "Are you alright, Emily? Do you hurt still?"

I nodded a bit. "Just a little… I'm sure it'll get better as I wake up."

Italia seemed to see through the ruse as he helped me stand and supported most of my weight.

"Thanks."

"It's alright, ve~ I was tired when I got here too. But it'll be okay, ve!"

I smiled at his optimism. I hoped it'd be alright.

A tray of food was shoved in through a slot in the wall (a few mintues?… hours?) later, leaving the two of us to eat what seemed to be chicken and corn.

"I wish they gave us pasta, ve…" Italia chewed through the stringy meat beside me.

"Is it your favorite?"

"Si, ve! I make it for Doitsu and we eat it together. And he cleans up the kitchen afterwards because I always make a mess, ve~… I hope he's okay."

"I'm sure he will be… he's probably worried sick about you if anything."

He sniffed, " I don't want to worry him! I don't mean to! I just… I get in trouble sometimes, and he rescues me!"

"Your knight in shining armour?" I ate the last of my meal.

"Ve~ si~!"

"Mm." I smiled slightly, and winced at the headache that continually throbbed in the back of my skull.

"Emily," he shivered, "it's so cold…"

"I know." We huddled into each other. "It's going to be okay."

"We're warm together, ve~"

"Yeah. We are."

Time crawled by as we entertained each other. I told him about my life, moving from Russia to America and back again, my best friend Franics.

"I know someone named Francis, ve~" Italia interrupted, "But I haven't seen him for a while. I worry about him… he, um, disappeared… a while ago. He's my brother, of sorts. My older brother."

I hugged him. "I don't know what I'd do without my Francis. I hope yours is okay."

Italia hugged back, surprisingly strong for a man of his stature and condition. "Gratzie; thank you. I miss him very much."

Days passed in the form of meals, fatigue, mild exercise, and boredom. He talked of Doitsu, I talked of my mother. It was nice to be able to talk of her, to try to expel some of the pain and guilt that had built up within me.

There was a small toilet in the corner of the room where we took care of our business, but I think I could speak for both us when I said we were both feeling worse for wear and ratty.

I didn't know if it had been a day, a week, or a month since I had seen sunlight. We measured nights by how much we needed to sleep, and it was early evening at the moment because Italia was sleeping in my lap, head resting on my chest, curled up comfortably and making small 've~' noises in his sleep. He always slept before I did.

All of a sudden a door I had not seen before opened and let in just enough light to make me temporarily blind and my head remember it was injured.

I instinctively circled my arms around Italia. The man who had brought us here wouldn't hurt him. I'd keep my promise.

The person was silent and quick in his movements. I noticed the slicked back blonde hair and piercing blue eyes first.

"Get your hands off of him," he growled.

"I-I-"

"Did you hurt him?" he demanded, stepping closer, almost closing the door behind him.

"No, of course not," I said quietly, scared by the unfamiliar man. "H-He's sleeping."

His eyes softened for a second as he took a second look at the sleeping man.

"Are you Doitsu?" I asked.

He replied uneasily, "Yes."

"What… what does that mean?"

"It means Germany."

I looked at him without comprehension. "And Italia?"

"Italy, what else? Stupid girl…"

Italia hadn't mentioned anything about countries in our time together besides asking if Russia had brought me there. "Why are you named after countries? And who is this Russia he was talking about?"

He shushed me by putting a finger to his lips. He scanned the hallway outside of the cell and replied, "We are the countries. I'm here to rescue Italy from Russia."

At the sound of his name being spoken by his friend he woke up and Doitsu put his hand over the smaller one's mouth in time to muffle the happy cries of "Doitsu! Doitsu!"

"I think that hit did a lot more than I thought…" I said mostly to myself as the taller man extricated Italia from my arms. "Why is he here?"

"Classified." He looked at the exit to the room, and then back to me in my weakened state.

"Can you take me with you?" I asked tentatively.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Emily."

"You aren't a country, are you?'

I shook my head, slightly confused by his question.

He looked conflicted, and then someone shouted: "It's Germany! Get him!" After flashing a look of regret and saying "Gott sei mit dir," the two were off. Italia gazed after me in the quick second he had, showing a deep sympathy.

I worried about how bad the situation really was.

Another figure came into the cell. I knew it couldn't be Germany of Italia, so I braced myself for perhaps another blow to the head or a different injury.

He said hatefully, "I agree with the Kraut. God be with you, brat. You'll need it!"

I didn't look up and try to find out who they were. It wasn't the voice of the boy, nor anyone else I knew.

He spit at my feet and the door slammed shut with a screeching bang that made my head reel.

I sat there on the floor, trying not to cry. Thoughts rushed through my head faster than I wanted them to.

'Why did Russia bring you here?-

'I'm Italia-

'Gott sei mit dir-

'I'm Emily-

'Doitsu Doitsu!-

'Did you hurt him?-

'You're all red-

'I won't let him hurt you-

'My bike-

'Ve…ve…-

'You'll need it!-

'The boy with the purple eyes-

'I'm here to rescue Italia-

'The Kraut-

'What about me?-

"Gott sei mit dir-

'Gott

'Sei mit

'Gott sei

'Gott sei…mit…dir…'

I tried to stay awake as all the thoughts and emotions swirled around inside me. I couldn't hold it anymore, and threw up to the left of where I was. I crawled over to the right corner, farthest from the door, trying to hide my shame in the shadows. The sick smelled of nothing but bread and water, but the stench alone made me dry retch.

I curled into a ball, not letting my head touch the unforgiving stone behind me. I missed the man already; at least we had been able to share each other's company while in the cell. I tried not to cry, but before I passed into unconsciousness, I might have shed more than a few tears.

~o~

I was stiff and freezing, finding myself in the same spot at which I had reluctantly fallen asleep. Then I remembered where I was, and bit hard on my lip to stop the tears from coming. I squeezed my fingers, and extended them to make sure they hadn't gotten frostbitten. It seemed that without Italia this place had only gotten colder. I touched my hand to my head; relieved to find there was no fever. I also gingerly inspected the base of my skull, feeling for anything out of the ordinary, besides the now dried blood and matted hair, as I did every 'morning'.

The door opened and I flicked my eyes up to see a soldier standing there.

"Get up," he commanded.

I closed my eyes, bit my lip hard, and used the wall to get myself up. I gasped slightly at the stiffness of my legs but the ache was more in my head than anything.

"Come with me."

My eyes widened. Where was he going to take me? "N-No," I said, refusing to leave the cell. At least I knew I wasn't going to be hurt in here.

He pulled out a gun and thrust it underneath my jaw. "Don't make this hard on yourself, girl."

I tried not to look at the loaded gun or the angry soldier that towered at least a full six inches over me. He smiled, showing crooked teeth and a mouth that reeked of vodka.

I growled, "I'm not a little girl."

"Shut up." He put his hand on the small of my back and pushed me forward sharply, ricocheting my head back and making me stumble forwards. 'I must look like a drunken fool,' I thought. I blinked a couple of times, regained my composure, and was led by him out of the room and into the corridor. I ignored the pain in my head from the sharp action as we started down the hall.

As we walked I noticed the change in temperature from icy to comfortably warm and the tendons in my legs started to loosen up.

The light sickly sweet smell of alcohol seemed to permeate the place, although I never saw any as we trudged down the halls. It was a bit unnerving to not be able to see the source of the sickly-sweet liquid. I was able to move my arms now, and was stretching out my fingers in front of me when the guard grabbed my hands, forced them behind my back, and handcuffed me.

"What giv-" my interjection was silenced at the presence of his gun.

The guard smiled sinisterly and prodded me forward once more. I almost fell this time, but was able to recover and corrected my posture so I was standing at my full height of five foot six and three-fourths inches.

"Where are we going?" I asked a bit later when I was able to get up the courage to speak.

"He said he wished for you to have dinner with him. You will shower and dress, and eat with him. What happens after that will be up to his digression."

I gave him an incredulous look, but did not argue. The gun was still in his hand.

He led me to a door. "In here you will find all you need." He freed my hands from the too-tight handcuffs and pushed me in.

Before I could even try to run out the door, it had been shut and locked.

'What am I going to do?'

I pounded on the door as loud as I could, but no one responded. I turned and looked at my surroundings. White tile walls… a shower, a slate floor, a toilet, a sink with a cabinet beneath it, and a mirror.

I grasped the sides of the sink and looked into my own eyes in the mirror. 'You must stay strong.' I told myself. I nodded in wordless agreement and started to strip to take a shower.

The water was ice cold and I yelped when I put one leg in to see if it was ready. After a couple minutes it had warmed, and I stepped inside, loving the feel of it on my body. Had it really been that long?

I carefully tugged the blood out of my hair and watched the water taint with red as I cleaned my scalp. The wound was as long as my pinky finger, it seemed. It was acting like a cut, not a blow; which confused me. The tender skin around it told me it was indeed bruised, but I wasn't worried about that. I was worried about the fact I was going to have to face the man who had done this to me.

Why was I even here? Who was this 'Russia'?

I used the bar of plain soap to wash the scum of life off of my skin, and grabbed the towel right outside of the shower when I was done cleaning myself. The room felt heavy with steam from the shower as my hair dripped water onto the stone floor. I looked to my clothes, only to realize they were missing, minus the essentials, which were folded on top of a new set of clothes. The outfit consisted of soft leather shoes, white socks, longer tan pants, and a lavender shirt. Well… at least I liked the color purple. I put them on, finding the shirt was too big to just be let out. I tucked it in and bloused it over the pants, which were extremely plain and reached to just above my ankle. The shoes were as comfortable as they had looked, and I was feeling good. As good as a captive in a stranger's house could feel.

In the cabinet I found a hairbrush, and slowly worked it through my shoulder-length brown locks. I winced when I brushed too near the cut, but was able to get the tangles and snarls out.

I sat on the covered toilet, wondering what I was going to do when I confronted him. Obviously violence wasn't an option. Apparently he was Russia, so did that mean he was the country? That I couldn't kill him? Even if I attempted, there were too many guards with too many guns… I didn't even know why he had brought me here. Was he _that _upset over me getting my bike back? I mean… he had seemed like a reasonably nice guy. Why had he gone all psycho?

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" I asked.

The door opened, a guard was there.

'Well gee, thanks for asking if I was clothed or ready to go or anything' I thought.

"Hands," he said. I reluctantly put them forwards, where they were cuffed. "You'll be eating with him tonight," he instructed in a heavy Russian accent. "Do not call him anything but 'Sir' unless he says otherwise. Eat and drink what you have been given. Be polite, and do not speak unless you are spoken to. Is that clear?"

"Yes…?" I answered uneasily.

"Good."

I was shoved through a set of oak doors which closed behind me with a loud bang.

'What is it with this place and locking me in rooms?' I asked myself. I pulled on the door's handle for good measure, but like all the other doors here, it was locked.

"проклятиеи," I muttered under my breath.

"Hello," a semi-familiar voice filled the room. I slowly faced the opposite direction to see him sitting at a small square table, just as I had seen him before. The same clothes; everything. This time he carried what looked to be a piece of pipe with a spigot attached to the end.

'Pipe?' I thought. 'Why in the world is he carrying a pipe?'

"Come and eat," he said.

I thought of the guard's instructions and walked over to the table. For now I would do as I was told.

A glass of water, some extremely rare steak, and some assorted cooked vegetables was all that had been given to me. He hadn't started eating, so I didn't either.

"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," he began, sipping his water.

'No shit, Sherlock,' I thought.

"Well, I've seen you in the market, around town… and you intrigued me. I've decided to have you here with me until I make a final decision on what to do with you."

'Intrigue? Stay? _Final decision_?'

"So, please; enlighten me. I know a bit about you, but I want to hear it firsthand."

"What do you want to know?" I made my statement forceful and clear; I wanted him to know I meant business.

He chuckled, "Your name, perhaps? Family? Friends?"

"My name is Emily," I stated plaintively. "I live in a small house on the outskirts of town, but you already knew that, didn't you? After all, you've snuck in it before. And I'm sure you know about my family, and who my friends are."

"Indeed," he replied with a smile after swallowing a forkful of vegetables. "Well, since you don't wish to talk on the subject of your personal life any further, I will tell you that your sleeping quarters have been arranged."

I looked at him with a gaze of half disdain and half concern.

He looked over his water glass at me, "It's where you'll stay while you're here. Your blue coat, along with your other pieces of clothing, are being washed and will be returned to you in your bedroom."

'The blue coat. How did he know it was important?'

"I must say though, I do like what you're wearing." His eyes flashed at me, showing me that the color of my shirt matched them perfectly.

"You can't do this, you know," I commented.

"Hmm?"

I repeated louder, "You can't do this. It's kidnapping. It's _illegal_."

He smiled, "I think you'll come to recognize that I have friends in very high places."

The thought of him being Russia came into my mind. "Is it true that you are Russia? Italia said that you were the country, I think…"

"Yes, the very essence of it." He seemed unfazed somehow, wiping his mouth with his napkin and drinking more out of his water glass. "I have heard my precious Italian has escaped…" he pouted childishly. "I will miss him."

"Wait, wait. How are you _Russia?"_

"I try not to dwell on the technicalities of it all. I am Russia. You are Emily. You learn not to question it."

I answered with a silence impregnated by thoughts I didn't voice in order to protect my well-being.

"You really should eat," he said, noticing I hadn't done as much as pick up my fork.

"Not exactly hungry," I replied.

He put his glass down on the table, "Why? The food is perfectly prepared and you haven't eaten in a while."

My thoughts went back to my time in the cell and I immediately reinforced the idea that I wasn't going to eat anything. Besides, eating something so rich would make me puke. "I can't."

"Are you feeling uncomfortable?" he asked kindly. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"N-no Sir," I stammered. "I just… I can't eat at the moment." The concern he was showing was unnerving in itself. "I'm fine, I'm just not hungry. When are you planning on letting me go home?" I restrained the urge to let my hatred show in my voice. 'Control… keep in control…'

"I already told you, after I've made my decision."

"On what?"

"You really should eat," he smiled childishly, skirting around my question.

"I've already told you, Sir, I'm _not hungry."_

He got up from his seat and walked around to my side of the table. He put his hands on my shoulders lightly, and I immediately tensed up. "What's wrong?"

I thought, 'What, other than the fact I've been brutally injured, traumatized, imprisoned, kidnapped, and confused? Nothing at all!' I only said, "Nothing, Sir."

"I know you're lying to me, da," he replied, his voice taking on a darker tone. "Don't lie."

The iciness in his voice made me shiver on its own, and with the chilled hands on my shoulders, I felt as if I had my own personal blizzard circling around me.

"I cannot tell you the truth, it would insult and upset you… Sir."

"Better," he said, one of his hands moving up to my neck. I restrained the instinct to flinch from the freezing touch and instead felt his fingers trace patterns on my jugular vein. I grit my teeth. "Now, is there anything I can do?"

"Let go of me," I suggested, malice showing.

"Hmm… but I like this. I don't think I will. It's fun to see you react." The other hand was snaking up to the base of my neck, getting to close to my injury.

I said through a tightly clenched jaw, "Then what was the point of me telling you?"

"To see if you would lie to me… my my, Emily, that's a nasty bump you've got there," he said, lightly agitating the bruised skin. "Whatever happened to you?"

"I was hit from behind, I don't know with what," I replied icily, feeding into his little game of make-believe.

"It left one Hell of a mark," I could practically hear his smirk.

"Yes Sir," I agreed, my words curt and strained "It did."

He said matter-of-factly, "Now, if you're going to reside in my house for now you must know one rule: that if you lie to me there will be plenty of other marks to join that one da."

"I… understand," I tried to appear meek.

His hand clutched the back of my neck, "Don't try to make yourself seem different then how you feel or are. That's lying."

Pain coursed through the spot and I tried not to let out a cry of pain.

"Repressing your voice is lying about your feelings," he continued as if nothing was happening.

I could not help but let out a weak, "A-ahh…" in response to the tightening of his hand. I could feel his fingernails imprinting onto my flesh.

"You learn," he stated, removing the one hand. The one that remained on my jugular vein circled over and over like a vulture. "That is the only rule of my house. I know you now understand. I have taught you to."

I sat there, eyes fixed straight ahead, knowing I was trapped in Hell.


	3. True Natures

Translations:

Gott sei mit dir= god be with you

Doitsu: Germany

Italia=Italy

* * *

THREE

"So… you will be good, da?"

"Yes, Sir," I responded immediately, fearing the lone finger on my neck and the boy behind me that controlled it.

He chuckled lightly, "I can hear the fear in your voice."

'I can hear the smirk in yours.' I thought back maliciously.

"You have nothing to be afraid of while you are here," he stated. I suppressed a shiver despite his comment; hoping I wouldn't be punished for my efforts at not showing my fear. Obviously, there was something to fear, and it was standing right behind me."Perhaps you wish to go to your quarters for the night, da? Come, I will escort you there."

I stood slowly and carefully as he pulled out my chair. He took my hand into the crook of his arm and held it steadily there. I walked without giving him any problems, though I restrained the strong urge to step on his feet, kick his shin; or better, his groin, and we came to the door that exited this room. What I wanted more than anything was the strength and will to pull my hand away and slap him across his face.

He opened the door with a golden key the produced from his pocket and locked it behind us when we had exited.

'Is everything in this place locked?' I wondered as we continued down a wood-floored hallway. I started losing track of how many times we had turned left or right, but I kept a silent count of my steps in my head. If I was planning on a quick escape I would have to remember the path back to the entrance, and how long it would take me to get out.

We came to a plain door which he opened with his key. "I hope you'll find the room to your liking."

"Thank you Sir," I said, keeping my head down, waiting for him to release my hand.

He did so a couple of moments later, and I opened the door to reveal the space. It contained a full-size bed, a dresser with a mirror, and a couple other things like a nightstand and a small lamp.

I walked in, forgetting the fact the Russian was behind me. I looked to the bed. It was so… big… I felt it and the material was soft and smooth; so unlike the blankets I was used to. They smelt of honeysuckle.

I looked over at the dresser. The dark wood was polished to a gleaming shine. "Wow…." I looked once more around the room, only to be reminded that he was still there.

He moved closer, "You like it?"

"Yes," I replied breathlessly, almost oblivious to my situation. I touched the base of the bed, which was the same wood as the dresser, "It's beautiful," I remembered who I was talking to, "Sir." I glanced back up at him and wondered why he was doing all this. Being nice to me, taking me, keeping me prisoner, and then… this. This wonderful place! Was he trying to confuse me?

He walked over to the dresser. "Inside you will find all the clothes you need. The nightstand contains a journal and a pen in which for you to write if you wish."

I met the purple eyes, "Why are you doing this?"

A calm smile played upon his lips, "Because, I please to. As I said before, you intrigue me, even if you are only human."

I stared after him as he exited and closed the door behind him.

At that, truth and reason rushed in and collapsed onto me like a wave. This wasn't good at all. I had to get out, get home, get back to what I knew as normal. 'Just human…' I spat in my mind. Obviously he was out of his mind. Schizophrenic. Maybe Italia… and Doitsu…? Were they all insane? A shared illusion?

I sat on the bed. This didn't make any sense. People couldn't be countries. It wasn't possible. A human can't _be _a country. I held my head in my hands. God, this was messed up. So, he must be insane. I was trapped in a house, or whatever this was, with an insane man.

I had to get out. I stood and walked to the door, pressing my ear to the wood to try to hear if anyone was right outside the door. After about a minute of silence, I gingerly fingered the doorknob, finding it to be unlocked.

My eyes widened in joy. I almost opened it, but held back the urge to. I knew he was still close.

'I'll wait until early in the morning,' I assessed carefully, 'Before anyone is awake.'

I sat on the edge of my bed, finding the fabric sinking under my touch as I evaluated the best way to escape. "I'll get out some door; if they didn't lock this one, there'll be others."

I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to do the math in my mind to see how long it would take me to escape, but failed. 'Damn it…' I searched the nightstand and pulled out a small journal and a pen. I began to write in it.

"862 steps from dining room to my room, .5 seconds per step."

I began to do the long division, on the page opposite it and wrote the solution on the first page. "Elapsed time: 7 minutes roughly 20 seconds."

I sighed. There were plenty of turns along the way and I had been trying to pay attention to my steps. Seven minutes was plenty of time for me to get myself lost. Besides, that would only get me to that dining room, not to the front entrance.

I'd just have to brave the maze blind.

I balled my hands into fists. I could do this.

~o~

"Emily?" Francis wandered through the wasteland of the house. He looked left, to right, to left again, only to find nothing. Ashes where her hearth was, the blankets usually near it folded into the corner like she did before she was going to go out. The chest that used to be her mother's in the corner, opened up.

The chest sparked his interest. He looked over at it, turning it over in his eyes. He remembered the coat that she had shown him; the one she always kept on top. The light blue one that had grayed with age. It was missing.

He frowned. It wasn't like her to misplace things.

He had befriended her when she was young, but she still had little ticks that he had picked up on. They had played games and sung songs, but she was always careful of putting everything away, and always knowing where everything was. When she had gone to America when she was about five, he had missed the organization. He remembered how nothing had seemed in its place.

Her bike, he noticed, was gone also. And no other logs had been put on the fire other than the one he had put there himself. The loaf of bread sat on the only table, untouched.

His eyes widened. Something was wrong.

~o~

I quietly opened my door and scanned the corridor for any sign of soldiers. I sighed with relief. They must have gone to bed, or at least weren't patrolling this part of the building.

'I'll find my way eventually. How big can one house be?'

The figure '7.2 minutes' ran through my head. I looked for a clock anywhere on the wall, but found none. I'd just have to go untimed.

I tiptoed out of my room, closing the door without making a sound. I carried nothing with me, and wore only what I had been for a while. The tan pants and lavender shirt. Maybe if I ran into a guard I could claim I wanted to go for a walk, or that I had gotten curious and wandered a bit around the house.

'That'd be lying,' my mind said, getting too close to mimicking his icy voice. I froze in mid-step, almost expecting him to be right behind me. No one.

I put my right foot down, breathing out and getting a hold of myself.

'You're strong. Stronger than the boy with purple eyes. Stronger than any prison; whatever form it takes. Stronger than anything. You can do this…' my inner voice faltered with the next thought, 'Your Mother would be able to do this.'

I heard the sound of a balalaika from somewhere around me, interrupting my chain of thought. Like it was coming through the vents; sort of far away but I could hear the notes all the same. Ominous.

I shook my head. 'Don't get distracted! 7.2 minutes. You will escape, report this psycho to the cops, and get back to the house. Maybe sue this bastard, and get enough money for a decent home! Yeah. Just think about the sweet, sweet revenge. And you'll never buy sunflowers for the stall ever, and he'll never have a reason to come within a hundred feet of you ever again. In fact, you'll get a restraining order. A nice _big_ restraining order. And maybe move back to America! Won't that be nice?'

I ran down the hall, listening for the most silence. Since the sound had to be coming from somewhere inside the house, the lack of it was my best bet of finding an exit.

Suddenly, the music stopped altogether.

The hall was too silent in that instant. Too quiet, the absence like a candle had been snuffed out and all you had of the remains was the smoky smell that came afterwards. I swallowed my fear and plunged into a right turn, going down yet another hall of doors. Another left, a right, then I heard it again. Louder, the sound coursing through me.

I frantically looked side to side. Where was it coming from?

I slowed my pace to a careful walk, cautious to not let my bare feet make a sucking noise of the wood.

I turned a corner and saw the man there, playing the balalaika. I bit my tongue so hard I tasted iron. 'NO!'

"Out for an evening stroll, Emily?" he continued playing, eyes still closed. How had he known it was me?

I looked at the face of my captor, trying to place an emotion, but finding none. "I guess you could say that."

He opened one eye lazily, "Hmm. Come and sit. We can talk for a while, da."

'Talk?'

"I…"

"Come and sit," he repeated; no threat present in his voice. "Please, don't make me say it again." I stood there for a moment with cold adrenaline pumping through my veins, contemplating how fast he could get on his feet. Then I rethought the notion of running. He would simply call the guards.

He opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow to the fact that I was still standing. I quickly sat alongside him, making him reclose his eyes and go back to playing the balalaika.

After about a minute the suspense was too much for me.

"What now?" I asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" A melody was slowly coaxed from the strings.

I continued, "I tried to get out…"

"Oh," he said. "You're waiting for a punishment."

The cold feeling went through my chest again. It had backfired. "No! Not if I'm not going to get one."

He chuckled, "Since it is your first night I will let you have a free pass. Next time you go out of line there will be consequences. I am admittedly a bit too calm at the moment and not really in the mood for anything."

"Would you let me go, then?"

"Nyet," the voice was stern. "You keep making me repeat the fact that you intrigue me. I am not giving up things that intrigue me so easily. They are few and far between. You should be honored to be considered one of these things."

"That doesn't mean you can keep me here." I hissed.

"I think you'll find that I can. You won't be missed."

A fire burned in the pit of my stomach. "I would be missed. Anessa, Francis, Luka, they'd all miss me!"

"Humans only wait for so long before giving up on lost souls. It won't take long."

Again, talking about humans as if he wasn't one. Psycho…'He's not much older than I am. How much damage is he really capable of?'

"You're too quiet," he stated. "What are you thinking?"

I swallowed in stress and said, "I'd rather you not know." It was a valid response. I wasn't lying by principle. I was just avoiding the question.

"Tell me."

I couldn't avoid it now. I could lie. A good lie. "I was thinking about the music you were playing. What's the instrument?"

"And why wouldn't you want me to know that?" he asked calmly, then continued, "You think too much about your lies before you say them. Now I have to do something. I can't just slap you on the wrist like last time."

'Last time was a slap on the wrist?'

I felt our close proximity and noticed that my heartbeat was frantic. I slowed my breathing to try to keep myself composed. I wouldn't show my fear. The strong never showed fear.

A hand felt gently at the injury on the back of my head. My eyes snapped wide open in terror. "Don't touch it." I didn't look at his face.

"Why?" he seemed to tease me, circling the hair around it into a tight twist, then releasing it with a bend of his finger. "You've disobeyed me. You deserve it." He set down the balalaika and I could see him out of the corner of my eye surveying me over.

His index finger pushed hard against the center of the cut, angering my bruised skin. I winced at the pain. He put his other arm around my neck so I could not move as my legs writhed beneath me.

He pulled my head so the injury was to his chest, keeping the finger poised over the spot. I grabbed at the forearm encircling my neck, trying to get my nails to pierce the skin so I could run the risk of trying to get away.

"Don't panic," he whispered soothingly in my ear, as if oblivious to the pain that he was causing. "It's not as bad as it could be."

I struggled as much as I could but he held me to him with a strength I didn't think possible.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

The tears were almost leaking out of my eyes. Almost. "Let me go!"

"It's not a lie…" he replied, but he hadn't released me or weakened his hold.

"Go to Hell!" I yelled furiously. I didn't care if I was going to get hurt.

I heard him exhale a sneer and I was thrust against the wall. His wrist was at the base of my neck, and he had positioned himself to be right in front of me.

The breath was knocked out of me at impact and the feeling of hot pain shooting through my skull wasn't making it any easier to breathe. I sat there, shocked, half brain-dead, for a couple or tortuous seconds.

He wasn't pressing on my throat; he knew that putting his hand there was all it took for my heart rate to shoot up and get my adrenaline going. His leering expression was one of triumph, of plotting. It was of plans and scenarios, and I saw a bloody beaten body on the floor in those hideous orbs.

I looked away, pressing my cheek to the cold, unforgiving wall. Then, in a rush of emotion I looked straight back and hissed, "Whatever you do to me, no matter how many bruises I get or how bloody I become I will never be broken. I am not obedient. I will get out of here. I will."

He laughed then. "Kol…kolkolkol…" I would have shivered but my body was full of foolish courage and rage."You do not see the predicament you are in. Or maybe you do. Doesn't really matter at this point, does it?" the darkness that had crept over his face intensified. "You think I cannot truly hurt you. That any pain I can give you will not make you submit, da?"

I did not reply, the look on his face petrifying me.

"Answer me!" he put his face too close to mine. The reek of vodka flowed over me.

"Yes!" I yelled back. He did not do as much as flinch.

"We will see what we can do about that."

I immediately regretted everything I had ever said to the boy with the purple eyes.

Everything was rough after his words. Rough hands that grabbed me and kept me still even though I was wriggling, rough bonds that held my hands in place, rough cloth that was put over my eyes. Blind and in such a panic that I could have been deaf as well and it would not have made a difference.

I was fighting blindly against a guard that sat me into a chair that felt like metal. It was rusted on some parts on the arms. I knew this because my arms were forced to stay on the rusted metal by coarse ropes that smelled of mildew. I attempted to lift my arms off of the metal chair, trying not to cut myself on the rust.

The knot on the back of my head was undone and I opened my eyes in fury to gaze into calm, controlled violet ones.

My look softened for a moment in surprise and he gave me a slow smile, as if halfway between regret and anticipation of excitement.

"Hmm," he evaluated me, gazing up and down, backing away from the chair.

'I wish I knew what he was thinking.' I calmed myself internally, taking deep breaths and steeling myself. 'Keep in control. He's in control of the situation, so you have to keep in control of yourself. Calm down. You'll get through this.'

Before I could react a small gash was made with a thin dagger on the back of my left hand. His voice echoed through the small room I had been brought to. "Does this hurt?"

I gasped and flexed my hand in disbelief. . I was surprised that I had not felt the sting of the steel before I thought about looking at it 'He cut me…' Some drops of blood emerged from the line of a cut but the pain took a couple of seconds to register in my mind. I hissed in response to the sudden pain. I felt it pushing like a stone wall against my reason.

He cut my forearm through the shirt and I saw a small puddle of crimson start to stain the soft linen. "Does it? Don't lie." The pain was almost unbearable as his voice took on a new tone, one that I couldn't quite indentify.

I breathed out heavily, still trying to break free with all my might, disgusted by the sudden change… what was he hinting at? Was he teasing me, prodding? What was he trying to get, what reaction would make him let me go?

"Does it hurt you?" with every word he came closer and closer. He made the tiniest of cuts on my lower lip.

He came closer and closer, "Does it?"

I glanced at the cuts on my arm and the back of my hand. I gave no reply at first but instead a hard-hearted stare, trying to counteract the crude actions. "Never." He was insane. Off his rocker. He'd kill me. I'd defy him. Die with dignity. I licked a bead of blood off my lip; the wound continued to trickle.

"Lies," he said slowly, dragging the knife in one slow jagged motion up my lower leg around my kneecap and halfway up my outer thigh. I gave out a strangled howl, trying to not look down at the wound that I could feel spilling plenty of blood.

After my cry I fell forwards, the bonds holding my limp body to the vile chair. I panted, trying to cope with the pain that was overwhelming me. My eyes were only half open as he tilted my chin up and delicately licked my lower lip, taking away the small beads of blood that had formed on the skin. His lips came next, if they really came at all.

The kiss was momentary, only brushing the surface; the feeling of his lips on mine could have been just a crazy imagining, adding insult to injury. The excruciating pain in my leg was more than enough to distract me from any possible daydreams.

'Why would I be imagining that?' I questioned as he pulled back. My gaze went down to my leg. The wound was huge, and I was panting in panic.

'No,' I thought. 'Be strong.'

He came back to my lips, pressing a bit harder, molding my mouth to his. I was too exhausted and too scared to resist, letting him take what he wanted. He quickly pulled away at my lack of resistance, surprising me. 'What the fuck! Why, why!'

The bonds were cut and I was lifted by him bridal style. I looked at him through panicked eyes but he did not glance down at me once. I tried to keep conscious, feeling myself slip slower and slower into the black.

He carried me to a room where he set me in a chair and started to address my wounds.

It stung as he cleaned my hand, and I tried to draw back in the revival of a burning pain. It was a weak attempt, and he easily regrasped my hand and settled it on his knee so he could keep it in one place as he wiped the blood away and bandaged it with some gauze.

He kept silent, meticulously securing it and moving on to the one on my upper arm. He came closer and leaned close, assessing the damage. "Interesting reaction…"

'I'm not an animal!' I screamed in my mind. 'You don't take in a reaction from this kind of thing! I'm not a science project, I'm a person!'

After he was done with the mending of the slits (including too many pain-filled stitches for me to count going up my leg) he lifted me and placed me on the bed in the room, laying my head onto the pillow.

He did nothing further, only standing, still saying nothing.

"It… it hurt," I said tentatively, exhausted, and out of fight.

His mouth formed a hard line. I started to sit up, but he pushed me back to the sheets with one hand.

The door clicked closed, and he was gone.

I breathed out and let myself lay back. A strange feeling ran through the whole of my body. Perhaps it was the release of some sort of tension or stress that had formed from the punctures in my skin. Whatever it was, it was being let out in my sighs of relief.

I let my hand travel to the stitches. It reminded me somewhat of the appearance of a patchwork doll…

'Why would someone do something like that?' I asked again. 'All for the sake of making some crazy final decision? What is it… if I live or die? I doubt I'm worth staying alive after I couldn't save my own mother.'

I licked my lips, tasting a scab and the faint taste of the Russian. 'Maybe this is purgatory.'

I thought back, 'Doesn't Heaven or Hell come after? It's too soon…'

'…Maybe you're already in Hell.'

'I tried to help her! I don't deserve to go to Hell.'

'It was such a simple sickness… your mother could have cured it in a day if it was you that had been sick.'

'But she was the sick one, not me. I tired!'

'Look where trying has gotten you. You tried to escape, and look at you now.'

'Can't you see I'm trying!'

'I can see you're useless.'

'I'll escape.'

'That worked so well last time,' the voice spat. 'Look. You were crying out in pain, useless, defenseless.'

'But-'

'Shut up, you worthless little cretin. There's nothing you can do but give in.'

I quieted internally as I absorbed the shock of the final blow.

I thought quickly that I wasn't useless. I would escape… somehow. As soon as I found a way around him.


	4. Avenging Wounds

Translations:

Gott sei mit dir: God be with you

* * *

FOUR

I awoke from the nightmare with a strained yell. I looked down at myself. I had become trapped in the blankets, seeing the fabric twist and contort to squeeze around my limbs and torso. Some of the formally white sheets had been stained red.

The wound on my hand had reopened and was bleeding around me. The gauze had become soaked and was now leaving a square-shaped stamp of my blood where I laid it. A fear of bleeding dry rushed through me. I knew it was nearly impossible and it would thicken soon enough, but the amount of red liquid pooling in the bed was unnerving, and I had lost a significant amount of blood the night before. I bound it with the sheet, staunching the flow.

'Damn Ruskie!'

I went to the door. There would be someone out there to help me get further medical attention.

Locked.

"Damn you!" I yelled, pounding on the door. The pain in the recently used leg reminded me of his other transgressions and my hatred was rekindled. Sympathy? Forgiveness? No way in Hell. Not after what he had done to me. God, my leg hurt, it ached, it burned.

The memories of last night rushed back more vividly than I cared for them to. Images of him smiling, the knife with my blood, him licking from the wound on my lip. His laugh as he slashed open my arm. The pain of the sterilized needle sewing me back together like a torn piece of fabric.

I balled my hands into fists and tried not to flinch as I felt the strain on my still bleeding hand.

I saw the curtains, and pulled them back to reveal a window. I opened it to gaze upon a dreaded sight. I was three stories up. I laid the bloody hand on the clean sill, knowing that when I let go I would leave a red handprint. Too far unless I wanted a broken leg. I looked down at the already mangled skin. Not an option.

Someone opened the door.

"Don't!" they immediately shouted.

I turned back to see the face of a guard grabbing me around my midsection, pulling me back from the window.

"Let go of me!"

He closed and latched the window before holding at arms' length. "Don't do it."

"What do you mean?"

"We both know you were going to jump."

My mind echoed on the word jump. He thought I was getting ready to commit suicide…?

"I wasn't." I said calmly. I had to appeal to his reason. "I wouldn't do that. I know I do not deserve to die."

He let go of me and I promptly closed the curtains of the window.

"Now, I need a new bandage for my hand. Can you get me it?"

"Yes," he replied, and scurried out, closing and locking the door behind him.

I sat of the edge of the bed. Suicide? Is that what he could drive people to? Had it happened before? What about that boyish man I had met in the cell? Would he have jumped if in my position?

That man was a monster. A psychotic, violent, horrible monster, underneath what might have been a kind façade. I laid down on the bed and attempted to calm myself.

A couple of minutes later there was a knock at my door.

"Come in," I replied, knowing they would whether I responded or not. I sat up, trying to find a position where the blankets didn't hurt my leg. I took the gauze off of my hand and turned to ask for the new bandage and didn't see the guard in front of me, but the last person I wanted to see.

He sat next to me on the bed, clean wrappings in hand. "May I have you hand?" he asked, and I surrendered it with a stony look.

He covered the wound, circling my hand twice to make sure it would not come off. "Don't scare me like that again," his voice was quieter this time; gentler.

'He wants to get you off guard, the bastard. He's the one who gave you the cut!'

"Do what?"

"Tomas said he saw you ready to jump out the window." He paced over to it and pulled open the curtains to reveal my bloody handprint on the sill.

"I wasn't going to jump, Sir." I stated without emotion.

He turned back to me; eyes trying to dig deep into mine. I knew mine were glazed and kept silent by my will. He would get nothing from me.

"Sir, I wouldn't." I rephrased.

He suddenly rushed to me and hugged me, being careful of the tender spots. It was strong enough to keep me in my place, but loose enough to not be interpreted as threatening. He felt… soft. "Please don't."

I was a still as a statue; and giving off as much warmth as.

He pulled back. "There's breakfast for you if you'd like. While you're eating I'll have someone take care of your room, da. You can get dressed now if you want to eat."

I gave him no response.

"I'll wait outside." He rushed out the door, leaving me alone in the room again.

Reluctantly I dressed in the clothes that had been provided. It was a calf-length brown skirt paired with a turquoise long-sleeved blouse. I looked at my reflection using the window, thinking, 'I know, I'm confused too. But don't let him play his games. He is your enemy. And you can defeat him.'

I nodded dutifully at my reflection and then padded over to the door and rapped on the wood. He opened it and took my hand on his elbow like he had before and led me down to the dining room, trying to subtly support me on the side my leg was stitched shut. I was limping because of the wound. Little sparks of pain ran up my leg with every step I took.

"You didn't sleep well, did you?" he asked, voice touching on guilt.

"No, I didn't, Sir. How'd you know?"

"Your eyes look tired and you don't seem yourself... plus, it must have taken a lot of violence to reopen the wound on your hand; and tossing in bed is usually paired with nightmares. I'm sorry… I should have gotten you some pain medication or something to help you sleep."

Something good smelling interrupted my confused train of thought.

He pulled out my chair and I sat as he went out of the room, excusing himself. At his absence a myriad of contradicting thoughts came into being. They concerned his actions, speech, motives. He was completely different from the one that had cut me. But the opposite was true. He was the man who cut me. Tortured me. Stitched me up.

When he came back through the doors, contented smile gracing his lips, eyes closed in the confidence of knowing where everything was, it shattered all reason.

Why was he confusing me? One moment he was almost killing me, the next he looked so innocent!

"It's pirozhki. One of my favorites!"

He set one plate in front of me and returned to his spot.

I eyed the dish, then took my fork to it. 'That smell…'

I took a bite, sighing into it. Delicious. I chewed it thoroughly, extracting every drop of flavor before letting it slide down my throat. It tasted like a long time ago, when I was able to afford meals that tasted so good.

"You seem out of sorts, da," he tried to start a conversation. "Are you feeling alright? Are you unwell? I must keep you in fair condition."

I tried to pick up some note of sarcasm; some hidden meaning. He hadn't touched his food, and was again trying to pick up a mote of feeling in me. I said simply, "If you wanted to keep me in fair condition, you wouldn't carve me up with a knife, Sir."

He merely chuckled and replied, "You deserved it. But that is behind us now, da? We must learn to move forward."

Move… forward? Really?

"Because you were wondering earlier… I find it interesting how you operate. Alone, yet you have a friend. You function very much as an independent unit, but you seem to accept help regretfully. You should learn not to look a gift horse in the mouth, by the way." He took a bite of his pirozhki. " And also the fact that I have seen you looking for further employment, yet you don't find any. It is like you repulse the people, da?"

I could have sworn my eye twitched. "It's because of my language skills. I can't speak Russian fluently, and since my Mother is dead, the people have no more use of me."

"Your Mother?"

"Died. Pneumonia. About a month ago." I whispered quickly, keeping my head down. "I couldn't help her. I tried. But I couldn't." I hastily wiped some tears from the corners of my eyes.

"Don't feel bad…" Suddenly a light came on in his eyes. "I know what'll make you feel better!" he grabbed my wrist like a child would to their mother and started dragging me out the hall.

I didn't resist to the tugging on my arm, and tried to keep my weight on the leg that hadn't been slashed. I wiped the tears away with the opposite hand as I was dragged through the corridor. Everything was so mixed up inside me that I let myself be taken to wherever he wanted to go. This was just a game. Manipulation. But I wanted to believe there was good in everyone… including him… was he really trying to cheer me up, or was this all a big game?

"Close your eyes," he said with excitement pouring from his voice.

I looked up to see his expression but all I found was anticipation and innocence. Or at least that was all he was letting me see. He leaned his face the littlest bit closer in the motion that he was waiting for me to obey.

I stopped straining my neck to try to appear taller and reluctantly closed my eyes. He led me down a bit more of the hall, then opened a door. At the click of him turning the doorknob I took a sharp breath in. Usually when he was opening doors it didn't mean the best of things was coming.

"Go on," he said quietly, "open up."

I found myself in a room of glass, surrounded by sunflowers. I gasped. "Wow…"

He stroked one of their petals. "Do you like it?"

"Beautiful," I breathed. Then I remembered who he was. "So?"

"Nothing more than that," he smiled distractedly while petting the seeds in the center of the flower. "They just make me feel happy when I'm down. I thought they'd help you. You should keep some at your stall, they brighten up people's days."

My hard line of a mouth parted a bit in confusion. I almost felt like crying. This was too much. I couldn't pin him down. Like he was a ghost. I was unable to label him. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

I smelled one of the flowers, losing myself in the sea of yellow, brown, and green.

"You can eat the seeds," he said, showing me a palmful he had taken from one. He took my hand gently and opened it up, pouring a couple of seeds into my palm. "You crack open the shells with your teeth and spit them out and eat the seed inside. I just chew and swallow them altogether, though. The shells don't bother me, da."

I placed one in my mouth and cracked the shell, chewing. The seed was a bit bland but had a nice tinge of earthy flavor to it.

I heard a scoff from the other side of the room. I looked to see who I remembered as Doitsu leaning over Ivan's shoulder.

He also had a dagger to the center of his back.

I spit out the contents of my mouth and dropped the rest of the seeds in shock.

"Hello, Ludwig."

"Shut up, Braginski," the other growled.

The purple eyes were too calm, hands still lightly clasping the thick stem of a sunflower.

Germany slashed across his shoulder blade, rivulets of blood instantly showing. He cut again on his midsection. "If you ever hurt Italy again-"

"He didn't hurt him!" the words came out of my mouth without my permission. Why was I trying to protect him? "I was with Italia, remember? He was just scared."

Germany plunged the blade into his femur.

"Stop!" I screamed.

"Look at you!" the enraged man let go of Russia, letting the now limp body fall to the ground. He came towards me, his teeth bared. "Look at your leg! I know his wounds when I see them, you insolent child! If not Italy then he has harmed you, and so many before you!"

I did not turn away from the ice-blue gaze.

"Yet you dare try to protect him?"

The battle for the right words took place on my tongue. "Let him suffer in a purgatory of his own design," I managed to spit out, "he has chosen the life of a murderer. The life of one who kills and injures and takes. You fight and wound him only for revenge; feeding the black hole of inhumanity that dwells within him." I stole a glance at the body, now lying in a pool of blood.

The German's voice faltered. He answered me with a look at the Russian and the grave words, "And what will the captured do? Let him die, or help him live with this black hole?"

He left out the door he had came; prolonging his presence with unhurried steps. A couple of guards had come, but none challenged him.

I rushed to the man. "Oh god…"

"I'm surprised you defended me… strange… perhaps you will develop Stockholm Syndrome, da?" He looked to his wound. "I've suffered much worse," he said, surprisingly calm. "Germany was just getting a bit of revenge."

'Much worse?' I thought, shocked.

"I could pretend to be weak in order to get some sympathy from you… it'd probably work…" he mused.

"Shut up. I'm not in the mood for manipulation."

He laughed, but I saw a cringe of pain when he thought I wasn't looking.

I softened; then I felt my heart harden in self-defense. "Clean yourself up," I ordered; ignoring the blood that stuck to my skin.

"No help?" he asked as I walked away.

"Would a prisoner save their warden?" I cut through him with words before shutting the door to the room of sunflowers.

~o~

I walked to my room with a purposeful stride; bare feet skirting the ground. My leg stung and burned with each step I took, drawing the majority of my attention. I felt the hall get smaller and smaller as I kept going, closing in around me. I knew it was just an illusion. My brain was overloaded from everything that had gone on. I just couldn't let it fizzle out.

I slammed the door not in anger but anguish and slumped to the floor.

What had just happened?

I looked to my blood spattered flesh and cringed. I just left him there, practically drowning in his own wounds. His blood now congealed on my bare skin. Disgusting.

'He has his own guards and medics,' I thought. 'Besides, I kept Doitsu from going any further in his injuring of him. That's help enough.'

"Psst! Hier!"

I saw the man I had just been thinking about coming in through my window.

I backed up against the door. "What are you doing here?" I spat at him.

He chuckled. "Italia asked me to come back for you. You don't want to come with me?"

I blanched. He was offering me a way out?

He smiled with something in his eyes that I couldn't identify. "So, you wish to stay."

"I most certainly do not!"

"If you didn't want to be here, you'd be coming with me already."

"You hurt him really bad," I stated, shuffling around the subject as he walked closer.

He looked disappointed. "Not badly enough, obviously. If I hurt him gravely you'd be down there."

"Look, Doitsu. I don't care. He hurt me… I don't even know why I'm really here. Something about judgments and an unhealthy amount of intrigue. Why would I care? Of course I don't."

He patted me on the head like I was a small child. "Ah, but you do. Otherwise you wouldn't have told me to stop. You would have enjoyed the sight of him bleeding, the pain he tries so hard to cover up. But we all know it must be there under a stoic outlook."

"I'm not sadistic," I countered. I knew I had to deal with him diplomatically. "I just think that all life has value."

"Even the life of a nation?"

"Why does he keep mentioning that?" I asked him. "Italia called him Russia, you're Germany, apparently, and Italia is Italy…"

"Italia is only North Italy, but for now, yes, I suppose that's a satisfactory statement. We are."

"How?" I asked, exasperated. "All of this… it isn't possible!"

He chuckled. "It is. You need to realize that."

I looked at him through strained eyes as he continued, "I told you earlier to look at your wounds. Are you blind or do you really not hold a grudge for it?"

"Of course I hold a grudge," I uttered.

"Then why did you defend him?"

"I… it's…" my head fell in defeat. I had no answer.

Germany smiled, "It's because you care for the Russki. Admit it."

"No! He did do those horrible things to me! He manipulates me! He changes himself to torture my very mind, my emotions!"

"Emotions…" Doitsu continued, "An edgy subject, don't you agree?"

I wasn't sure what he was insinuating, but I didn't want to find out. I simply replied with a diplomatically phrased, "I could agree with that."

"You know, you are truly stupid for not taking this opportunity," he stated, walking towards the open window from whence he came.

I swallowed. "I… I feel like I'm needed here."

"What justifies that?" he asked harshly. "The cuts?"

"Plenty of these were here before he even saw me," I almost smiled. The street fights in America had roughed me up a bit. Calloused hands, roughed up arms and repeatedly skinned knees had been a part of my everyday life. I didn't like my scars, but they didn't hinder me so I was fine with them. They were faded to light marks anyways, not even noticeable. "Besides… maybe I could… help him, in some way?"

"No matter. Those that find themselves 'needed' here find quickly that it isn't a particularly good thing. There are worse things than petty cuts."

I nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"Hmm," he stood straighter, facing the window. "Is there anyone I can send a message to for you?"

I immediately said, "Francis. Francis Bonnefoy. Tell him I'm alright."

"Francis?" he turned, eyebrows furrowed. "He's here?"

"Yes… why? Do you know him?"

He turned to the ground, "Nothing, nothing. And what about where you are? Don't you wish for him to know?"

I contemplated, looking down at my feet. If he knew where I was, he was going to come and try to get me. He'd end up captured, tortured, or worse. "No. Just that I'm fine."

"As you wish."

I followed him to the window, reopening it for him. "Be careful on your way out. It's a long way down."

He laughed, "It'd take a lot more than a bad fall to slow me down," and hung over the edge of the open window. He gave me a stare straight into my pupils, "Are you sure you wish to stay?"

I looked out towards freedom, then back to the prison that so desperately needed me. I gave him a sad smile, "I'm sure. Gott sei mit dir."

"Gott sei mit dir," he echoed; then expertly climbed down the wall. I watched him as he hit the ground running and started off towards the horizon.

I shut the window without mental ease. I had just given up on my freedom.

"Well if I'm going to be here then I damn might as well help…" I glanced to the door. "…or not."

I paced to the mirror where I inspected myself. "You little bitch. You don't care. But you do. And then you insist you don't and then you do again and you think you might when you don't. You don't deserve sympathy! Get a fucking hold on yourself! You should have gone with Germany when you had the chance. What are you, stupid? You'd rather sentence yourself for however long with a psycho? A… psycho…" the words didn't feel right. He wasn't insane. Just… horrible? But that didn't sound correct either. Misunderstood was out of question. I understood him well enough. Nothing fit.

"He's fucked up beyond words…" I chuckled to myself in the mirror.

Something warm touched my hand. I looked down to see a gloved hand; afraid to look further up the arm to see the owner of it.

I shivered. I didn't know why. Something in my body felt out of place. Odd. More alive, perhaps.

"Fucked up beyond words…" came the slightly raspy voice of the Russian. "Never heard it put that way before, da."

I closed my eyes, waiting for him to hit me, to plunge fingernails into my throat, anything violent or destructive like I expected.

"Don't be scared," he said caringly.

I wanted to say 'I'm not' but the lie wouldn't come out of my mouth.

"Open your eyes," he whispered. I saw the two of us in the pane of glass. Me, confused, hair mussed, anticipating pain. His reflection revealed sad looking eyes, a heartbroken smile, and a bit of half-dried blood on his chin.

He kissed my cheek with more tenderness than I ever thought capable of him. "I'm not going to hurt you, тот, кто я хотел бы утверждать, но не может."

"I don't know what that means."

He let go of my hand, which was only gently grasped anyways. "I'm going to go get some more medical attention. I will see you later if you wish, but only if you want to see me."

I watched him exit the room slowly. I knew that he wanted to stay near me somehow. Something inside of me wanted to be near him.


	5. Vodka Speaks the Truth

Translations:

Эмили=Emily

мой драгоценный дорогой=my dear precious

черт возьми= damn it!

Medovukha= honey and berry juice based alcohol native to Russia

проклятие! нет даже водка помогаетs= Damn it! Not even vodka helps!

Для любви к Богу. Теперь я галлюцинации.= For the love of God. Now I'm hallucinating.

* * *

FOUR

My face only revealed a confused girl with an expression reminiscent of a deer caught in a pair of headlights. The slight rose tinge taking over my cheeks told otherwise.

You know, this mirror girl was strange. She didn't look much like me at all. I was shorter than this. A little less serious. More reliable looking, though. And less in need of someone.

'In need of someone?' I questioned my thought. 'Need?'

I tried to think back to the Russian he had spoken to me. What on Earth had he said? And why hadn't I learned more of the language? I couldn't even say да right anymore. I had been too Americanized.

I thought back to America. All those years of constant moving; trying to find a safe haven and failing at finding it again and again. We weren't exactly welcomed with open arms. I used to get made fun of for my poor English and the obvious Russian accent. I hadn't belonged there. And here I cannot even speak the language. Rejected both places that were supposed to be my home. Ironic.

To the Russian I bet I sounded a bit American, and we spoke in English to each other. To Americans I sounded Russian, and my English left much to be desired.

'Enough moping,' I chastised. 'It's time to sort things out.'

I lay down on the bed (the sheets had been changed, as he had promised) and closed my eyes. I made a list of feelings towards the source of all the conflict.

-Mistrust

-Anger

-Sympathy

-Suspiciousness

-Fear

-Caution

-That Alive Feeling

'That Alive Feeling', I repeated. There was the source of my problems. When you can't properly name something, you know that it's going to cause you problems. Like naming the monster underneath your bed 'That Thing With The Red Eyes And Sharp Teeth'.

I thought back to my shameful blush.

If Francis had been here, I knew what he would have said based on that one fact alone. I pushed his mischievous knowing smile out of my mind. 'Shut up,' I murmured to him in my mind as he played ever so slightly with my hair whist singing a song that every grade-schooler learned. I could hear his voice in my mind: 'Emily and a boy sittin in a tree…'

"Shut up Francis…" I rolled onto my side and was shot with a pang of homesickness.

I had the urge to get out of there right then. I needed to feel the freezing air around me once more while I biked to the market. I wanted the smell of a smoky log in my homemade hearth. I wanted the warm almost scratchy wool of my mother's blue coat in the wooden chest.

I clutched the edge of the dresser almost desperately. Pitiful. I straightened up, not facing the mirror. I didn't want to see myself.

The door was unlocked. I opened it without question, going out into the hall and wandering until I found an open area.

The brick scraped the bottoms of my feet but I didn't mind. I was used to getting splinters from the floor of my old home.

It was outdoors, in a plaza of some sort. I sat on the cold unforgiving stone and just breathed. I thought hard. What was keeping me here? Wanting revenge? A sense of obligation, perhaps? No. What was it?

Through a window I saw his figure walk by. He had not glanced out to the plaza; unaware of me being there.

I found myself lightly grinning at seeing him, then shocked myself out of it and cuffed myself on the head. 'Idiot! Stop smiling!' At the comment I felt something else sneak into its place. Remorse?

Maybe if he had really just been a boy I saw in town…

Maybe it would have been different then.

-o-

A letter came addressed to Francis Bonnefoy. He had been scouring the village looking for Emily when a familiar face rushed past and put the envelope in his hand.

"L-Ludwig?"

The German was gone faster than his eyes could follow, and he was lost in the crowd. Francis looked over the parchment.

Francis-

I give you this on the behalf of Emily. She wants you to know that she is safe, but not to pursue her. I believe she fears for your well-being if you do. But I assure you she is well. I have seen her with my own eyes. On my honor, I will say that I have neither harmed her nor am in possession of her.

-Ludwig

"Fear for my well-being?" he read aloud in disbelief. He was France for god's sake! But… she didn't know that… did she?

Obviously Germany knew where she was. But he wasn't going to budge. Francis wasn't strong enough to get the information out of him. But perhaps… Feliciano could be used as motivation…

No. He wouldn't stoop to that level. And Ludwig would pummel him if he tried anything that involved his precious Italian.

But, she was alive and safe; or so it seemed. He would have to trust the German's words for now. It was all he had.

-o-

He would see me only if I wished to see him. I repeated the phrase over and over in my mind. Supposedly I could live in the house and have no contact with him at all.

But I wanted contact. The why was unsure but the will to see him was definitely there.

I watched him through the windows, pacing there. No limp was seen from the leg that had been punctured. His surgeons must have done a good job. Either that or he was too stubborn to show any weakness.

'Weakness.' The word resonated. No weakness. If I was going to reside here with him for now I must know what it was. 'Vodka perhaps?' I suggested, remembering the stench of it. Maybe I would test that. I smiled to myself. No matter how injured he was physically I knew that his mind was as sharp as the knife Germany had been brandishing. Maybe a bit of vodka would dull the blade.

'Yes,' I thought. 'tonight, we drink.'

~o~

The guard looked at me head-on. "You wish to see him?"

"Yes," I replied.

He screwed up his face in contemplation and said quietly, "He didn't plan on you wanting to see him. He's… sleeping. He can't really see anyone."

'Damn.' My mind worked quickly to try to find something else that would help me to learn more about him, "Oh," I said. "Well, if it's alright with you… I'd like to go out then."

"Out?"

"Yes," I said cautiously, "Just… out. I could use a drink and you guys have is vodka. I'd prefer something a little less strong."

"There's nothing wrong with our drink."

"There is if after one glass you go teetering around. I can't have that," I replied, trying to appeal to reason. " I'm not going to let myself be heavily intoxicated, especially here of all places. Besides, it has no real flavor to me; unless you count an insane amount of burning at the back of your throat and then the same sensation a couple hours later when it comes back up."

I managed my best doe-eyes mixed with a hard stare and the guard waved me away. "Obviously you can handle yourself. Be back by sunrise. If you tell anyone I'll have you skewered!"

I smiled, "Of course."

"Don't go too far. Don't talk to anyone you don't know. Don't talk to anyone; really."

I looked smugly at him with a sarcastic "Really?"

The guard looked to the side, shook his head, and replied, "Go."

I dressed warmly; using my mother's coat and another coat that he had provided me with. I fingered the money I kept in the lined inner pocket. It wasn't much but it'd get me something.

'It won't be far.' I stepped out into the light two inch thick snow. A light flurry was out but nothing that hindered my vision. I followed the road out a bit, but didn't know where I was. I thought to my being brought here and remembered that I could recall nothing.

I could be in Transylvania for all I knew! My mind went into a frenzy. Was I still in Russia? Was I even on the right continent? I swallowed and continued on into the darkening evening. Now I definitely needed a drink. Anything to make my mind stop spinning.

I pushed my way through the light snow into a small unfamiliar town about fifteen minutes later. I looked around it with grief when I realized it was not my own. A wave of homesickness hit me but I banished it as I opened the door to a pub and made my way inside.

It seemed like the normal place. Not too crowded, but the bar had a couple people in it, music running through the floorboards, and of course a merciful bartender that would help me stop my head from unscrewing itself from my body.

I sat on a barstool, "Anything but vodka."

A couple of the men laughed, and I ignored them. The bartender started to inquire more when the guy next to me said in a heavy accent, "I'll cover her. Go ahead."

"No, no, I'm fine." I insisted, pulling out some money from the coat. "I have my own money. But thanks for the offer."

"That's not what he meant, love."

"What?"

"He's saying he's just going to keep an eye on you and your drinks. Shifty things happen at shifty pubs."

I looked around to see the men mostly conversing in Russian but I didn't see anything shifty in particular. I knew I was a bit naïve and was out of my…habitat… but I wasn't stupid enough to accept a drink I hadn't seen made or go off with someone I didn't know. Still I kept my eyes scanning the room.

"He walks tonight," the man beside me told the bartender.

"We're prepared. Plenty for him. Already here. Has been, almost for a quarter of an hour."

"Who?" I asked.

The bartender smiled, "No one to be 'fraid of, love. Yefrem has you covered. Besides; he'll probably only be interested in a never empty glass. Much like you, I suppose." He slides a glass of some concoction towards me.

"Medovukha," he said. "It's good. Like wine. Drink."

"Really?" I took a sip. God it was like forgetfulness and bliss in a glass. I took another sip, remembering not to drink too fast. Yefrem gave me a glass of water which I drank with it to dilute it in my stomach. It'd help me not to get so intoxicated.

"Where're you from?" Yefrem asked.

"Russia, America, then Russia again," I replied. "Moved so many times. I'm not really sure which one I'm more of."

As we conversed I felt some of my uneasiness slide away. These people were being pretty nice to me; making sure nothing happened. I noticed the glass of alcohol was filled only when I asked; the glass of water never seeming to be empty.

Yefrem gave me some more water. "Keep your wits about you now; I'll be back in a bit. Jakob? Keep an eye on the chicklet, да?"

The bartender nodded. I downed the water and took a sip from the glass.

"What are you doing out so late on your own?" he inquired while pouring straight vodka for a bearded man who looked like he had already had too much.

"Had to… get my mind off things…" I said between sips. This stuff was good.

"Things?"

I let out a lazy sigh, "You don't wanna know. Hey, what can you tell me about a guy named Ivan? Russian, purple eyes, violent? He likes vodka."

"We all like vodka," he laughed. But then his tone turned serious and he said quietly. "Are you talking about Braginski?"

"I don 't know… he's tall, beige hair?"

"What are you doing asking about him?" Suspicion crossed his face as I gulped down some more water and took a long draw of the sweet stuff from the crystal glass.

"I just heard the name a couple of times… some rumors…" I said inconspicuously. I faked a bit more of a slur than I had, "what canyuh tell me about 'im?"

"First off, don't go around talking about him like that. Maybe the drink's loosened your tongue a bit too much. In any case, he's Russia. He is as you said; violent, destructive, possessive. But now he's done something we won't soon forget. According to rumor he's taken a young woman from a village somewhere."

I faked ignorance. " 'S that so?"

"That's not the best part. I've also heard she's rejected 'becoming one with Russia' if you catch my drift," he winked. I inwardly winced. "And the proof of it is right in front of us," he nodded his head over to a corner of the bar and I saw him sitting there in a booth, alone. Vodka bottle in one hand, shot glass in the other.

'Sleeping, huh?' I thought. I whispered drunkenly, " 'Sthat 'im?"

He nodded.

"Why he ups-hic-et?"

"Seems as if she's gotten to him."

"Jakob!" I heard him roar, and stiffened in my seat, hoping I wouldn't be recognized.

"Back in a nip, hun. Keep drinking the water."

I emptied the water glass and finished off the medovukha.

I was genuinely unsure of what to do. He was obviously distraught, angry, and quite a bit intoxicated. But 'she's gotten to him'? As if…

The cautious bartender calmly replaced the empty vodka bottle with a new one full of Smirnoff. The drunk Russian grunted a thanks in reply.

Jakob came back to the bar and smiled weakly. "He's not this bad often. That, love, is his third bottle."

"THIRD?" I looked over as he stared at the glass container, taking a shot.

"Don't worry, he can hold it."

"Hold three bottles of vodka?" I asked, exasperated. Well, vodka didn't seem to be a weakness if he could hold three bottles. I crossed that off my list of possibilities.

"Jakob, I'm back," Yefrem sat next to me.

"Good."

"Nothing happened, chicklet?"

"Nothing. Just a bit of conversation. I have enough for one more glass…" I pushed the final coins to Jakob.

"Love, by the way you look you can have as much as you want. If you've come here to get as drunk as to sing and forget; you haven't gotten very far. You'll need much more than that. I could swear you've seen a ghost."

"More like wished someone was a ghost," I grumbled as I looked into the swirling alcohol. I took a draw from it and said, "If I were to forget, that would only make me remember in the morning. Not much sense in forgetting now, da?"

"Да."

"I can't even say it right anymore," I moaned. "Da. Da da da da. Ugh."

"It'll come with time," Yefrem comforted. "For now, I suggest you drink. Some deserve to forget."

I swallowed half the glass as the two men watched the bar cautiously. "I have to say, it's awful nice of you guys to make sure nothing happens to me."

"There has to be someone," Jakob said. "There're enough bad people in here already. You're young, love. Vulnerable to them."

"I am not," I interjected.

"Well you seem that way. And with drinks in you it would just get worse."

I sighed, stirring the medovukha with my index finger, "I don't want to go back, but I have to. Or maybe it's I want to go back, and I don't have to. Does it matter? I'm going back."

"Where?" Jakob asked kindly.

I heard a 'whump' and saw that the Russian had fallen forward onto his table, shoulders heaving.

"проклятие!" He shouted, " нет даже водка помогает!"

Jakob winced, as did Yefrem.

"What did he say?"

Jakob said to Yefrem, "Vodka's not working," and Yefrem nodded in solemn agreement. "We're just going to have to wait it out, I suppose."

I glanced over there with sympathy. "No one deserves to be that miserable. Do they?"

"Your heart's softer than mine," chuckled Yefrem.

"Nothing I can do," I downed the rest of the glass.

"Water," Yefrem pushed the other glass towards me. I smiled in thanks and swallowed the rest of that as well. Jakob refilled both glasses.

"Do people sing when they're drunk?" I asked.

"Sometimes."

"Maybe…" I wondered. "Ah, well this place has gotten emptier anyways, so I guess it won't do any harm to sing, will it? Besides, if I'm planning on getting a bit drunk I might as well do it right."

They both chuckled. "Go right on ahead."

I lifted my glass of medovukha is a toast and sang softy at first, but then got stronger,

"And even in the death of night

When winter winds do sting my lips,

I hear the calling of your voice

Through the lightest wisps.

And do I answer with my song

Through the winter snow?

Because the flurry is too strong

Your ears will never know!

"Oh, how strong the pull of the stars tonight…

Oh, how they spin above in the sky…

Oh, I wish I could see the light…

Oh, I just wonder why…

"And if I call out for your hand

You will never know,

For ice will coat a sweeter voice

Beneath the winter's snow!"

When I had finished I took a sip from my crystal glass. "For the pub."

"What is that song?" Yefrem asked as he took a drink from his vodka.

I shrugged, "Dunno."

"I liked it," smiled Jakob. "Your voice is lovely."

The Russian had become silent in his booth. "Is he still alive?" I asked in a half-slurred whisper.

Jakob walked over and lightly patted his shoulder. "Braginski."

He opened his eyes and said drunkenly, "Jakob, that is enough for one night. May I sleep?"

Jakob nodded sympathetically and Ivan's head slumped to the table. He carefully extricated the bottle from his grip and left him to sleep off the hangover that was soon to come.

"I guess that's all for tonight, boys," I said after Jakob had resituated himself from across the bar. "I'm gonna have to drag the lump home."

"But, chicklet, you can't-"

"You don't mean-"

"Rumors seem to be true this time," I said, finding my legs and standing unsteadily. I grabbed the glass of water and downed it to wake me up. "Can I have one last glass of water?"

"Of course," Jakob said.

I accepted it with a smile and walked over to the booth. Then I unceremoniously splashed the liquid violently on the Russian, waking him.

"What the-?"

"Get up, you lazy sack. Self-pity never helped anyone."

He looked at me with wide eyes. "Для любви к Богу. Теперь я галлюцинации!"

"What's he say?" I asked Yefrem.

"He thinks he's hallucinating."

Russia's head fell to the wooden table.


	6. The Long Road Home

SIX

The snow had stopped for now. I peeked outside to see the lamps had been lit and noticed that it must be below freezing. I paced back to the table that the problem was sitting at. I sighed to myself and looked at him through half-closed eyes of annoyance.

"Okay, now," I said. The boy was sitting up, eyes glazed. "I'm gonna get 'chu home."

"Too many drinks in ya, love," Jakob countered. " Might not be safe to travel, even if it's just a little ways away. Maybe you two should just stay here for the night. I promise you'll both be safe, and I'll fix you some cots in the back rooms."

"If he knows was out they'll cut my head off and stick it on a pike. I have to get him back... I have to get back. I'd love to stay… but…" I sighed.

"I understand, love."

Jakob gave me an almost paternal hug and Yefrem put a strong hand on my shoulder in approval of my actions. I nodded to him and nuzzled Jakob's shoulder with the side of my head in thanks for the comfort.

After getting to the table I put his arm over my shoulder. 'Heave up,' my mind said and my body obeyed. Soon I had him standing on shaky legs. He was wobbly; barely able to stand up. Wasn't this guy supposed to be Russia?

"Get a hold of yourself!" I yelled at him. But he was half asleep knocked out drunk and there was no use trying to reason with him. "Gah… Yefrem, could you get the door?"

He did, and I got us out into the road.

"Good luck to you, chicklet!" he called as I walked up the street with the Russian leaning on me for support.

It took me thirty torturous minutes to drag that sack of a boy back to his house. The ground was a little icy and he staggered with every step. I was hoping that the cold would wake him up just a little bit but it seemed his senses were all but completely gone. He was almost passed out on my shoulder as we followed the road back to him house. A couple guards greeted us outside by the gate. "What happened?"

"He's stone-cold drunk is all."

"You've had a few drinks yourself," they snickered.

I looked to the drunk on my shoulder, then back to the guards, and lost it. "Well when you live as a prisoner in HELL, you might want a drink to help you FORGET!" I pulled him inside by hooking my arms under his and got him inside as the guards stood, dumfounded. I didn't want their help.

"Dammit!" I lugged him into his room, kicking open the door as a fairly amused guard looked on.

I scowled at him, "SLEEPING, HUH?"

"I-I had no idea!" he held his hands up in surrender.

I narrowed my eyes at him and quite literally growled. I kept harsh eye contact as I dragged the Ruskie in, showing the utmost contempt.

Closing the door behind me, I set the lazy-eyed boy on the floor. "Well what now?" I wondered to myself. 'Might as well get him to bed… maybe this escapade will only be remembered as a strange dream… hopefully he won't remember at all…'

I got on my knees on the bed after propping him up against the bottom and pulled him up onto it. Unfortunately, this got him stuck on top of me.

After wriggling my way out from under the vodka-filled lump I took a look at him. Beige hair, tall, like I had said; scarf and coat still on, slight smile.

I couldn't help but smile at his pathetic state and took off his shoes for him. I didn't touch the coat or the scarf. No way. I wasn't going to be accused of ANYTHING in the morning.

"Dammit…" I said quietly, looking at him. "There's no words for you, you know that?" I sat near him on the side of the bed.

I was tired, so I sat up against the headboard, legs straight out in front of me. I put my hands behind my head and sighed against a pillow, feeling the alcohol run through me, making me calmer.

Then something grabbed onto the calves of my legs and a head rested on the upper part of my knees. It was the boy, and he was stuck fast. I wriggled, but it was of no use. He wasn't snoring, but his breathing was slow and deep.

"Really, Ruskie?" I sighed. He kept on sleeping as a reply. I felt another wave of sleep come over me.

'Don't fall asleep!' my inner monologue said, 'he won't remember anything in the morning, he'll make assumptions.'

"Forget it," I said to my pride. "I'm tired. Plus we're both fully clothed and I can remember what he can't."

I fell asleep there, and the medovukha insured that the nightmares that had come recently did not return.

~o~

I woke up warm and feeling comforted. A hand was stroking my hair; I loved it when my mom used to braid it. I sighed to myself 'Mmm… this is nice' as I snuggled. Strong arms encircled me as I drifted into a light haze. I curled up a bit to get closer to the heat source. 'Warmmm….'

I heard a light chuckle above me and I got a cold shot of adrenaline. I opened my eyes to see that a certain contented Russian was the one holding me gently.

I screamed.

I scrambled half blindly to get out of his hold and I tumbled off the bed, hitting the back of my head on the wood two feet below.

"Oww…"

I drifted in and out of consciousness for about thirty seconds as the breath was knocked out of me. His head appeared above me, looking over the side of the bed. "Are you hurt?"

"No!" I snapped back, then moaned as pain shot through the old wound on the back of my head. He gave me a pitying smile and disappeared from sight. He walked around the bed to get where I was, then picked me up, settling me in his lap as he sat on the side of my bed.

"Do you remember what happened last night…?" he asked.

"How much do you remember?"

"There was vodka… lots of vodka. And you-" he kissed me suddenly, then pulled back, licking his lips thoughtfully, "taste of medovukha. Seems like we got drunk together."

I touched my lips. "You can't just do that!"

"Don't lie, Эмили ."

"I don't care if you just did. You. Can't. Do. That."

He seemed to brush it off and asked, "So, do you have a different memory, or was mine what happened?"

"I remember it being vividly different," I grumbled. I remembered every last moment of the night before; including each painstaking icy step that it had taken to drag him home.

"So…" he played with a bit of my hair, "What happened?"

I said carefully, "You have to promise not to get mad at me or punish me for anything I did first."

He looked taken aback, and a smile of mischievous curiosity crossed his face and he whispered in my ear, "What did happen last night?" I knew what was in his mind. I was going to get rid of that thought then and there.

"Pervert! Nothing…nothing!"

"Well then tell me just how much 'nothing' went on."

"First off, I came to see you but your guard said you were sleeping. I snuck out to go to get a nice stiff drink that wasn't vodka. I found a pub and had a nice couple of drinks. Unfortunately you were there too… stone-cold-cursing-in-Russian-drunk. After a bit you pretty much passed out. And I got you home."

"You?" He laughed, "Carry me home? Impossible."

"I'm stronger than I look," I said indifferently.

He sighed, "That still doesn't explain how you ended up in my bed…"

"After I got you inside I dragged you to your bed and sat down. You of course then proceeded to wrap yourself around my legs, making it a bit impossible to get away. So I fell asleep there. Now, how did you go from hugging my legs to whatever was happening earlier?"

"We must have adjusted in our sleep."

"Mmm hmm… 'adjusted'," I said sarcastically, using air quotes.

"Honestly," he replied, "You can't imagine how delighted I was to wake up and find you here."

I looked down at the ground.

"Well, I have a bit of vodka to sleep off. It's only five-thirty anyways."

I looked out the window in a panic and then to a small analog clock on his nightstand. Five thirty AM? I slept for what, four hours?

I knew I was tired, but I wasn't sleeping here. I tried to get up but his arm snagged my around my waist. "Where're you going?"

"To… to bed." I replied semi-confidently.

He read the signs of fear and determination on my face. "I see. Sleep well. I'm sure we will see each other later."

"Yeah," I said, crossing the room and opening the door. He sat there on the side of the bed. I could feel him trying to mentally pull me back. He wanted me to be with him. Part of me wanted to stay. I remembered the feeling on his hand in my air, arms curled around me…

No. But… yes… and no…

He stood up and cautiously made his way towards me. "You tempt me too much, Emily."

"I-I don't mean to." My back was to the door. He came closer until we were almost touching, faces inches apart.

His eyes softened. "How many times must I ask you not to be afraid?"

I closed my eyes, half in shame, half in the fear that still drummed in my heart.

He stroked my cheek and I looked up to him. He was so tall compared to me… "Because you scare me…"

"Not enough to make you run now," he countered.

"Maybe I'm frozen with fear…"

He pressed his lips to my forehead. "I'll warm you then."

His arms wrapped around me and I pressed my cheek to his chest. "You confuse me," I whispered, not even knowing if he could hear me. "I hate you, I swear I do."

"I know…"

"You're horrible."

"I know…"

"I'm not going to give in."

"You feel it too, then…"

"Feel what?"

"Desire." The voice was even, matter-of-fact. I could not see his expression from my position.

"Yes, I do."

"Yet you refuse it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want to prove that I am strong."

"I know you are strong."

"Liar."

He hugged me closer. "It's lonely here. Would you do me a favor in keeping me company while I sleep?"

I looked back to the bed. 'He can sleep. I'll stay awake. It'll be fine,' I convinced myself. "Yes."

He got into his bed and laid on his side, facing towards the center of the bed.

I went around to the other safe cautiously, glancing at the door. What was I doing? 'Nothing,' my dignity said. 'You're keeping him company while he sleeps off the vodka. Like a friend.'

Friend. Yes. Maybe.

I sat like I had last night, propped up with a pillow against the headboard, watching over the boy with purple eyes. His hand lay out of the comforter, palm up, close to mine.

'No one deserves to be as miserable as he must be,' I thought as an echo of last night, and put my hand over his. His fingers circled mine gently, and he let out a sigh.

He fell into a sleep a couple of minutes later.

I looked to our intertwined hands, questioning myself in the silence between his breaths.


	7. A Change in Scenery

Translations:

мой драгоценный дорогой=my darling precious

* * *

SEVEN

I couldn't help it. I saw that he was deep in sleep, and I started to pet his hair. "Ruskie, you are just about the oddest person I've ever met." It was nice to be around him when I did have to worry about… well… him. He looked so peaceful and safe and…

I felt worry come over me. Was he able to be like this before I came?

'O-of course… everybody has a side like this, no matter what company they have,' But then I looked to how vulnerable he was, laying there, his hand in mine. His hand was rough with calluses, telling me that he worked more than I was aware of. I knew I was lying to myself. Jakob had described him as destructive, violent; but I saw nothing but someone who wanted to be loved. Albeit he was going to extreme lengths to try and get that love, but it was his goal all the same. No one deserved to be as miserable as he must have been.

Then I noticed something that was so wrong that I almost pulled back in disbelief. He was crying in his sleep. He didn't make a sound, his shoulders didn't heave like they had last night when he was drunk. Tears made their way down his face from closed eyelids to pool on the fabric of his scarf.

"God, Ruskie," I dried the streak marks with my thumb. I laid down next to him, trying to get a facial expression. Nothing. I touched my nose to his in a gesture of sympathy and care.

"Talk to me," I whispered after pulling back from the quick touch. No response. "I can't just sit here while you cry. Tell me something-"

"Hello…" I heard the door open with a creak. "Brother…?"

My blood turned to ice. "Hello?"

A girl with medium long straight brown hair walked into the room. "Who are you?" she asked, hate emanating from every pore.

"My name's Emily," I replied. "Who are you?"

"Belarus. That's my brother. We're going to fall in love and get married. Get married. With love. Lots of love. With a wedding… a nice wedding. Now get the fuck out. Don't go near him again or I will blast you into oblivion without a second fucking thought."

I looked at her with disbelief.

"Ah, so you aren't going to move." She brought out a revolver. "I can make it stay that way forever."

"Don't…" I said, trying not to plead.

"What are you doing here with my brother?"

"I'm just here to keep him company."

She hit me on the head with the revolver, hard. "Slut." I fell to the floor, barely conscious. She made her way over to Russia. "Brother dearest… wake up…"

'Don't you dare fall asleep!' I yelled in my mind, commanding my arms to push myself back up.

"B-Belarus?" he had woken up.

"Hello, brother. Won't you come and marry me? We'll be so happy together… it'll be so nice, my dear, dear brother."

"What are you d-d-doing here?"

"Your guard is taking a little nap, my favorite big brother…"

I closed my eyes in determination. What could I do? Run? Not with her there. I couldn't leave him with me, no matter if she was his sister or not. Attack? Yes. Only option. It was stupid. I was going to get hurt or he was or worse. I could die.

I steadied myself on all fours and peered over the edge of the bed. She wasn't looking at me. Russia looked like he was going to die from fright.

That was it. I had to do this. I had to attack.

I launched myself up and knocked the loaded gun from her hands unskillfully and we landed in the crevice between the bed and the wall.

She screamed in anger as I fumbled to get a hold of it and was able to get my hands on the barrel. I stood and pointed it at her as she sat there on her knees, not looking intimidated by my fearful display.

"You couldn't pull the trigger," she sneered. Russia looked on from above in the bed, hyperventilating.

I steeled my gut, looked her in the eyes, and hit her as hard as I could on the head with the butt of the gun. She fell, unconscious, to the floor. "No, I couldn't." At least I was able to get my one-liner out before my body seemed to freeze in that position.

I stood there without moving, thinking frantically. 'I had just hurt her. I hurt her for him. He is making me into a violent horrible person, just like him. I am going to live here and be like him. Oh God that can't happen he scares me. She scares me even more. I can't be like them. If that was his little sister then what could he do to me if he wanted? He could kill me without a second thought. Just like my leg, my arm, my head. Oh my God.'

Russia went up to Belarus. "She isn't dead. I'll get some guards to take her back to where she belongs." He took the gun semi-calmly from my hand, which seemed to be stuck in a death grip.

He set it carefully on the nightstand, and some guards took Belarus out of the room. I just continued to stand. "Emily…" he came toward me.

"Don't touch me!" I stumbled backwards, fell and hit my head on the doorframe, making everything run together. I got up and looked at him with panicked eyes.

I turned to the open door, and ran out into the snow.

I sprinted down the road, the sun peeking over the horizon, letting me see a bit in front of my face. Tears streaked down my face without reason. Fear replaced my blood and anxiety-ridden thoughts clouded the air where my breath was supposed to be. I wore nothing but long pants and the long sleeved shirts. I ignored the red tracks my feet were beginning to show and I ran into the town. Jakob could help me. He offered to help earlier. He'd give me sanctuary.

I ran to the pub and pounded on the door. "Jakob! Jakob please!"

The door opened and I collapsed on the ground.

"What the fuck?" a hand clasped onto my shoulder and helped me stand.

I looked up, "Yefrem?"

He looked a bit confused but he led me inside. "What happened to your feet?"

"I need a drink," I said, dismissing his question. But then I remembered, "I don't have any money."

"I've got you covered," he said. "Here."

I gulped down whatever it was that he passed me in one go. Vodka burned the back of my throat but I loved it. That fire was going to make me forget. I said only one word:

"More."

After two more glasses I started to cry.

"Water," he commanded. I drank. His friends sat next to him, looking on.

After another fifteen minutes I started to feel funny. I was tired but I felt like my body was on fire and my eyes were heavy but had too much energy to be normal. "I feel funeee…"

"Chicklet?"

I looked to the door. "Yefrrremmm?" I looked back to the stool. "Heheheh… twooo."

"…Chicklet? Jesse, what did you do?"

"Just something to help her have good time slipped into her water, brother."

"Why?"

"She… looked like she needed a good time."

"Whuh?" I looked around. "TWINSIESSSS!"

"No, chicklet." The Yefrem at the door growled, "My older brother."

The Yefrem closest to me put his hand on my shoulder. He muttered something to his friends and they took other Yefrem out the door.

"Chicklet!" He yelled after me.

"YEEFFFREMMMMM?" I called.

"I'm right here," the other said with a smile. "Say, would you like go to a party?"

"PAR-TEE? YESS!"

"Shhh," he said while patting my head. I smiled. Yefrem was nice! I love parties! "Well, let's go. Here, you can borrow my coat."

I put it on. 'Warm.'

My mind flashed back to laying in Russia's warm arms.

'NO! I'm not going to think about him. I'm with nice Yefrem and he's going to take me to a party!'

My legs were a little wobbly but Yefrem helped me walk.

"Yurr nice…" I said.

"Hmm…" he looked at me with something… predatory?... in his eyes. 'Nah,' I smiled. 'He's Yefrem! He's got me covered!'

I giggled to myself as he led us into a big place with lots of music. It was dark with lots of lights! Pretty lights!

"Dance!" I said.

"Yup," he replied, smiling at me. "Let's dance!"

He pulled me into the crowd, pulsating music around me. I closed my eyes. He was dancing really close.

"Yurrr close," I said.

"I like being close," he grabbed my hips as we danced to the music. 'I love dancing… this is nice!' I thought. The lights swayed in different colors all around us. Then his hand reached up to touch one of my breasts.

"No!" My objection was sharp; the sharpest thing I had said all night. I put my hands on his to stop them. I stopped dancing.

"It's fun…" he said. Snakelike?

"No touchhhh," I insisted in a slurred voice.

He looked at me through lowered eyelids and kissed me. Possessive, dark, tasted like alcohol and something I couldn't name.

It was wrong.

I struggled, he held my arms by my wrists and made me kiss him. I cried through it. 'this isn't happening this isn't happening this isn't happening'

I felt so heavy…

"Drugs feel nice, don't they?"

I tried to say no but he pulled me in before I could say anything. He wedged by mouth open with his tongue when I tried to say no again.

'God please what's happening?' I asked as he pulled me closer to me, hips grinding into me.

"NO!" I bit his tongue. "NO!" I tried to push away from him but he held me fast.

"Bitch!" he yelled, but it was barely audible over the music.

A couple of his friends grabbed me.

"Drag her to the outskirts. Leave her. Wait a moment," he walked over to me. I looked up at him, exhausted, drugged, violated. He kissed me again. I hated him. I hated the way he tasted. I hated everything about him.

"Hate 'chuuu!" I said, my mouth slow from whatever I had in me. The alcohol should have been wearing off by now, but I was just feeling slower and slower.

He scoffed at me and walked back into the club.

I was carried to the start of the semi-lit road between Russia's house and the village. Once there the boys hit me all over. In my gut, my legs, and a hit to my head knocked me into the icy ground.

They laughed and left as quickly as they came.

I didn't have the strength to pull myself out of the snow.

Tears came to my eyes and froze on my cheeks as I recalled the song from the night before:

"And if I call out for your hand

You will never know,

For ice will coat a sweeter voice

Beneath the winter's snow…"

I closed my eyes, ready to give into the crushing cold around me.

~o~

"Emily…"

I was lifted. I couldn't open my eyes to see who it was. I didn't care. Everything was so fast and dark and cold and this person was WARM.

I faded into a deathlike sleep that I wasn't sure I would return from.

~o~

I heard a voice above me in the cold, "Dammit Emily. You know how bad you got yourself hurt? You idiot… you could have died out here! Why did you run off? How did you end up out there? You worried me so much. But… it doesn't make sense. Why? Drunk? Did you smoke something? Please forgive me for this Emily, but I have to figure out why…"

Their lips touched mine and sampled my mouth, tasting it. They drew back, "Drugs. God Emily, drugged? You? What did they do to you…?"

My mouth twitched and I moved my shoulders.

"Keep calm. It's… it's gonna be okay."

I couldn't remember anything after that.

~o~

I woke up, eyelids heavy, head throbbing. It was too bright in the room, wherever I was. I shut my eyes tight and turned to my left, finding something there. I touched it. Felt like a knee. I opened my eyes for a quick glance. Yup... leg.

"Emily?"

My ears perked up at the mention of my name. "Mmm?"

"Thank God you're okay," I was lifted into someone's arms so I was on top of them, the back of my head resting on their chest. They kissed my neck and held my hands and stroked my face. "I thought I lost you. God, never do that to me again."

"Mmm…" I curled into them, getting as close as physically possible, half-asleep. I didn't care who they were. They were nice.

"You must have looked so vulnerable to them," he whispered, stroking my fingers. "Did you put up a fight? Of course you did… that's why they left you out there…why did you let yourself get drugged? Why did you let yourself get drunk?"

"Shh…" was all I could manage, putting a finger up to his face in hoping to find his lips. He grasped my hand, and kissed it.

He folded his knees up, pushing me closer to him.

"I'm sorry…" I choked out.

He gave me a glass of water. "Drink."

I thought about last night in fear. "Y-you first."

The glass came back to me a bit lighter than before. I drank the rest of it sleepily, not opening my eyes.

"Thanks…" I said as the empty glass was taken from me. "I owe you… whoever you are…" I snuggled further into them.

"You don't know who I am?" they asked.

The drugs still in my system made it hard for me to open my eyes. When I got them open, the light blinded me and I shut them tight again. "No… but, you're good, right? I didn't die…"

"No, you didn't die."

"And I'm warm and I feel… heavy… but, not bad like before…"

"Who did this to you?"

"Bad Yefrem…"

"What?"

I sleepily sighed, "The Bad Yefrem. One is bad and the other is good. I thought the bad one was nice… I was wrong," I clamped my hands onto his shirt. "Wrong."

"Shh…"

I quieted, trying not to fall back to sleep on his chest. Who was he? My mind tried to process the dialogue but was too clouded to do so. "I feel slow…"

"It's the drugs, мой драгоценный дорогой. They'll wear off in a little bit."

I didn't understand the language but it sounded nice all the same. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"Thanks for getting me… it was cold…"

"I know, Emily, I know."

I fell back to sleep.

I was lying in the snow. But it was all red.

'Red snow?'

My feet were bleeding, staining it further. 'That's not good…'

Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me up. I stood, but they twirled me around, my bloody feet leaving blackening tracks where I stepped. I couldn't stop dancing, but it hurt to move my feet. I looked to the boy in front of me. Yefrem? The bad one.

"Dance with me…" I had no choice but to.

He spun faster and faster until he pushed me back into the snow, my back surrounded by the feeling of icy needles.

He sat on top of me. "You'll be mine now. You're always going to belong to someone. Daft girl. Freedom doesn't work for you. You need a cage to survive."

My mind screamed 'NO!' but my mouth wouldn't open.

I tried to kick him off me.

"Drugs making you a bit, weak?" he smiled cruelly. "I'm going to enjoy this…"

I screamed.

I cried out in a harsh, raspy, desperate voice. This wasn't a 'you snuck up behind me' scream. It was a primal, bloody-murder-in-the-night scream.

Immediately someone grasped me in their arms. "Shh…sh…"

I shook, crying, "No… they can't do that…"

He said, "Emily, Emily, don't worry, nothing's going to happen, it was just a dream…"

I recognized the voice and opened my eyes. "Ruskie?"

He looked into my eyes, "I'm here. You're going to be okay."


	8. A Measure of Vengence

Translations:

Ma petit chaton= my little lamb

* * *

EIGHT

I looked up at him, just able to make out his face through the haze of fear and drugs. "Ruskie…?"

"I'm here." He nuzzled his face into mine, comforting me.

I recited from the dream, "Freedom… It doesn't work…"

"You're free, Emily. Why wouldn't you be?"

"I'll always belong to someone…"

He pulled away from me and looked down with concern.

"I… I need a cage to… to survive."

He kissed my forehead, "What have they done to you?"

I was still half asleep, "He almost-"

"You're fine. You're here. I'm here. I'll take care of you," The Russian cut me off with a solid voice.

"I don't know what I need…" the voice that came out of me was desperate and hopeless.

"Yes, you do," he said, petting my hair. "You're going to be fine."

"The drugs… they were strong, weren't they?" I asked, hiding my face in his shoulder so he wouldn't see my tears.

"Mildly so," he confirmed. "And you had quite a bit of alcohol in you."

"Stupid," I hissed. "So stupid."

"You were scared, afraid, thought you were with someone you could trust."

"No," I said. "I was stupid. I didn't think. I didn't use my mind all I did was use my instinct and that was wrong! They dulled my senses and I put myself in a vulnerable position. I was dumb. I was stupid. I… I deserved it. I deserved it for being so gullible."

"Don't you dare ever say that again."

I cowered, hunching my shoulders and putting my head down.

"You were courageous enough to save me from Belarus," he said, looking down at me. "Smart enough to sneak out of my house. Good enough to bring me back when I was drunk. Trusting enough to go with a stranger. It wasn't because you were stupid; Emily. It's because you're too good."

"Don't lie," I said harshly, then buried myself in his arms. I was spending a lot of time there lately…

"We're even now," he said hopefully. "You saved me from Belarus, I saved you from the snow."

I sighed, "You know we're nowhere near even. Belarus didn't want to kill you. I still owe you big time. You know, besides the fact that you kidnapped me in the first place."

He laughed, "Whatever you say, Emily. But, I do have some work to do."

"Oh. Yeah of course." I climbed off him and onto the soft bed.

"I was talking about taking care of you," he kissed me on my forehead again, and I didn't have any way to hide my blush. "What can I do?"

"Nothing," I replied. "I'm feeling a lot better, actually."

He looked disappointed. "There must be something."

"Nope," I looked at him, smiling.

He turned to the door, about to open it. "I'll check on you in a bit, okay? Be good. I'd prefer you not to leave the house, but if you'd like, you can wander outside. But I'd rather you not go into town for the meantime."

"I understand..." But a sense of foreboding covered me. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm meeting someone." The tone said otherwise.

"W-what do you mean by that?" I got up and studied the back of him.

"Nothing,"

"Liar," I called his bluff. I held onto one of his shoulders with my fingernails, trying to show dominance, "Don't lie to me."

He didn't reply.

"You're going out to meet him; aren't you?"

He didn't face me. "Yes."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"What do you think?" the reply was short, forceful. I knew what he meant. I had to stop him. I wouldn't let him have new blood on his hands.

"Don't go," I told him, stroking the shoulder.

He laughed quietly, "Who's manipulating who now?"

"Just don't go…"

"And not avenge what he must have done to you? How much of that night can you actually remember?"

I wracked my brain, "There was dancing… lights… then he kicked me out into the snow…"

"How much do you think you don't remember?" His eyes searched mine. "He could have hurt you more than you think."

"What… what do you mean?"

"You're covered in bruises from just last night!" He looked like a caged animal, pacing in an iron prison. "They abused you! They got you drunk and drugged and I don't know what else!"

He was beginning to scare me. He sounded like he did when I first met him.

He got on his coat, "I have to do this."

Something inside me reared up and I shouted, "No, you don't!" I took his pipe from its spot (leaning up against the doorframe). "If you think you were going to do it, you're wrong."

He started to say something but I cut him off.

"You're not going to have blood on your hands on my account. I'm not innocent. I know that. I will take revenge for my own abuse." I gripped the iron like my hands were made of it.

He stood in front of me.

"Give me the coat." I demanded. I knew I'd feel stronger with it.

He handed it over, wondering about the serious look in my eyes.

I put it on, pushing up the sleeves to fit me and buttoning the clasp. I growled, "You can follow if you want. But I will fight my own battle."

I remembered to get some shoes to put on my already heavily bandaged feet. I held the pipe like a pro. After all, I grew up in some of the worst places in America. Shanks, bats, and rusty pipes weren't strangers to me. In those days I had actually preferred a couple sharpened spades welded to broom handles as opposed to one weapon; but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

I approached the door of Russia's house with confidence, the cold metal almost burning my naked palms with the strange sensation of frostbite.

I was ready.

~o~

Rumors had flown around Bonnefoy's head about the strange new girl who had almost been frozen to death in the next town over.

He heard it in the pubs first. Apparently Jesse had decided to have a little fun with a girl who was new to town. She rebelled from his wishes and he tried to dispose of her. No one really knew where she was now; if she was living or dead. Usually little whores like she must have been didn't last long. Another life out the window. Francis frowned at the thought, but it was reality.

Francis sat on his friend's front stoop, as he had taken to doing at sunset. He might not have been the bravest country, but he was extremely loyal; waiting for her to come home without fail each and every day.

He shivered in his coat as a cold wind picked up. His mind trailed back to the girl who had gone missing now. If she was dead, who would bury her body and mourn her? If she was alive, who would care for her?

The train of thought mirrored the one he had about Emily. She had been taken. By whom? Why? Where was she now? And how could he get her back?

His thoughts clicked into place one by one. They were too similar. Jesse and the girl… Emily being taken… her being 'new'…

His eyes widened in rage. Jesse.

~o~

"You do not have to do this," The Russian looked over my shoulder as I faced the closed door, gathering my strength. The bruises and cuts that I had earned since I had arrived here were screaming for vengeance. I wanted to hit the Russian, but I knew something in me would not allow me to. So Bad Yefrem must pay the price for both of them.

I breathed in, then out, slowly and with purpose. I said, "You were the one who was going after him first, Russia." I did not look at the man behind me. I only stared at the barrier that was between me and the icy snow path that would lead me to my victim.

"That was me-"

"And what?" I asked harshly. "Because I am simply me I cannot have blood on my hands? You don't know me, Russia."

The silence behind me was disturbing, but it let me know I had won.

I cleared my throat without pride, "Like I said before. You may follow. But I will be the one holding the pipe."

~o~

Francis made his way to the bar. He trudged through the layer old iced over snow, hating it. Wanting to be able to kill it. Loathing it. And praying to it, begging that it hadn't been the one to suck the life out of his friend.

He saw the town come into sight.

~o~

I opened the door, my boots crunching the snow beneath me without mercy. I kept my will strong. I would take revenge for what that bastard had done to me. He had hurt me. Done things that I couldn't even remember. All I can remember is him invading my mouth with his… dancing… the drinks that made my throat burn…

I stopped halfway to the town, tears freezing in my eyes. He hadn't… he hadn't done it to me, had he? No. I would know. I… I would know.

The anxiety poured through me at the thought of losing my virginity; especially to a man who had drugged me.

However, the feeling went away with the thought, 'the man who I am about to kill.'

~o~

Francis slammed the door open, icy winds practically pushing him into the dark room. "Where's Jesse?" he asked.

The bartender motioned to the stool on the far right. He obviously had a drink or two in him, but it was nothing a little fear couldn't sober up.

He marched right up to the supposed kidnapper of his friend and said cordially, "Hello, Jesse."

"Ah, Bonnefoy! How are you?" he smiled back, oblivious to the hatred simmering behind Francis's eyes.

"I'm fine… looking for someone, actually. I heard you were with some chick the other night. Medium brown hair, five and a half feet tall?"

"Sounds familiar," sighed Jesse, leaning back on the stool. "…Ah!, that one. The one with the bare feet! Yes. Nah, Bonnefoy, she was no good. Waste of the drugs, really. I didn't even get to fuck her."

Francis breathed a prayer of relief that was followed by carefully monitored fury. No one would dare talk about her like that. Still, he had to make sure that it was his Emily, not some other girl. "Did she have brown eyes? A small red streak on the inside of her hair? No freckles?"

"I don't have time for freckles. Red streak in her hair?"

"It's on the inside layer so she can hide it," Francis said hopefully.

"I didn't see it. But she had doe eyes, brown like you said. And she's protective of herself, even when she's drunk, the bitch."

It sounded like her so far. "What else can you tell me about her?"

"She was a tad young… but still able to hold her poison all the same. Thought I was my brother, really. Too trusting."

Francis was convinced. It had been her. Anger filled him to the brim."Her name's Emily," he said softly.

"What?" Jesse asked. "I couldn't hear you."

Francis held his collar threateningly and bellowed, "Her NAME is EMILY! Now where is she? WHERE IS EMILY?"

~o~

"WHERE IS EMILY?" I heard as I opened the door, mouth in a line, pipe held like a sophisticated cane.

I gasped. 'Francis?' I looked over at him as he held Bad Yefrem by his collar. "Oh my God…" I said almost silently, watching my friend almost strangle my former tormentor. "F-Francis?"

He did not look at me, only staring at the man as he demanded to know where I was. He didn't look like my friend. His teeth were bared, eyebrows furrowed, his posture angular and jerky.

Was it him? My friend who took care of me and kept me company? Who was the person before me…?

~o~

Francis heard her voice, thinking it was the back of his mind urging him to hurt Jesse. Then he looked up to see a girl that reminded him of her. Was he hallucinating?

"F-Francis?" she said.

He blinked once, twice. He looked her up and down. She looked right… but those clothes… they were familiar. But he doesn't remember seeing them on her… whose were they? He noticed the pipe in her hands. Russia. Russia's pipe. Russia's clothes. On his friend, his Emily? It didn't make sense. But… it was her.

"Emily," he breathed out, letting go of Jesse. "Emily!"

~o~

He came towards me in a rushed daze. He hugged me so hard I couldn't breathe, squishing me.

"Emily…" He managed to squeeze me closer, "I thought I lost you. Ma petit chaton."

"You know I don't speak much French…" I said unnecessarily as I hugged him back. I attempted to use the little that he had taught me. "I missed you, mon ami."

He shook a bit, and I realized he was crying.

"Francis, Francis, I'm okay. I'm okay."

Through the whole thing Bad Yefrem was looking on, terrified to see that the girl had survived the night in the snow. More mortified though, to see that she was wearing what everyone knew to be Russia's clothes. And even worse, the monstrosity was coming in the door now, showing nothing on his face but pure intimidation.

Francis put his head into my shoulder. "I waited for you every night… combed the streets… "

"Did you get the message I sent to you?" I asked gently.

"Yes," he confirmed, "But of course I was worried sick all the same. And obviously, there was reason for me to worry." He glared over at the bastard Bad Yefrem.

I remembered why I was here at his words as I extricated myself from Francis's grip and regained my hold on the pipe. "YOU."

Bad Yefrem seemed frozen in his seat. He gazed at me with wide, fearful eyes. "You're that bitch-"

"Where is your brother?" I yelled. "Where?"

"He's… I don't know… he… he"

"Spit it out you bastard!"

"He's fine!" he cried back. "Why do you care?"

"Yefrem was nice to me," I replied quietly, making my tongue into a blade all its own. "So was Jakob. I thought you were your brother so I trusted you. You lied to me."

"Your point?"

"You fucking drugged me! You almost molested me, drugged me, got me drunk, took advantage of my condition, and then left me out in the snow to DIE." I hissed.

"I didn't rape you though," I saw remorse in the scared eyes.

"You wish you did?"

"Well… it would have made it worth-" his voice was cut off by my free hand slapping him. He held his cheek, "You whore!"

"You horrid scummy sick bastard!" I was standing, still shorter than him, but in my mind I towered over him. I thought about raising the pipe; I fought the urge to hit him… and then I remembered that it was why I was here. To hurt. To get my revenge.

My eyes widened in a sort of freeing emotion and I lifted the lead tube back like it was a bat. The one in front of me cowered; he was nothing but a feeble slimeball.

"Chicklet!" Before it descended it was stopped by an opposing force holding onto the spigot at the top.

I turned back, "Yefrem?"

"Thank God you're all right," his eyes were sympathy and care. "Please… don't hurt my brother. I beg you Chicklet."

"He-"

"I know what he did." Two police officers came and cuffed the older brother. "I'm setting it right."

The pipe seemed lifeless in my hands now. No purpose in it anymore. The cops hauled off a colorfully cursing Bad Yefrem, who was just close enough to be able to spit at me. It landed on my face.

I held back the urge to curse and instead looked upon him with rage… but then I found content. He was going to jail for what he had done to me… and probably many others. I wiped the disgusting saliva from my skin and turned to face Francis.

"Let's get you home, ma chaton," he sighed.

"No." A voice that I had not heard since I left the house made itself present. "She will come with me."

"…Russia?" Francis asked, looking over me. I felt suddenly self conscious about wearing his coat and carrying the pipe that he had used. "Emily, why are you wearing… his clothing?"

"It's a long story-"

"Yes," The Russian agreed, taking the pipe from my loosely gripped hands. "And she is coming with me."

Francis challenged him with a look of pride, "She shall not, Braginski."

He raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Well then, how do you plan to take her, France?"

'France?' I thought in confusion, looking to my friend. Germany…Russia…Italia… Francis… was France?

I looked at him lost, and whispered, "You didn't tell me?"

He broke eye contact with his nemesis and said, "I didn't want to put you in danger. If you knew… then-"

I heard a sickening sound of metal reaching skull. Francis fell to the ground.

"Francis!" I cried, immediately falling to the floor, picking up the limp body. He had a bruise and a bit of a cut on the back of his head… where had I seen it before?

A mark almost identical to his burned on my skull.

Russia easily picked me up in his arms. "You will be coming with me."

I screamed desperately, "FRANCIS!"


	9. Decisons Made in Dark Rooms

NINE

"Let me go you fucking Ruskie!" My blows were muffled by the thick fabric of his coat; I felt like I was drowning in it. It wasn't my strength anymore. "I have to help Francis! FRANCIS!" I cried again, but he just kept carrying me further and further from the town and towards his home.

I kicked, screamed, punched; nothing worked. He was a stone wall. Back to the way he was when I first met him. Wanting and not caring.

I couldn't tell the exact moment when my struggling ceased but maybe it faded in waves, bouts of torment, perhaps. Soon I was just rigid and cold in the arms that once made me safe. He didn't look down at me. He was thinking. Plotting. It wasn't good.

When the guards to the gate saluted him, he did not nod back but pressed on through the snow that had begun to pick up. It seemed as if nothing existed in his mind. It was blank, emotionless. It scared me.

He carried me still inside and then to his room. The guard looked concerned at my frightened appearance but made no move to oppose Russia.

He slammed the door behind him and I was dropped violently from his arms and pushed to the ground.

I looked up at the intimidating face, the purple eyes.

"What are you doing?" I spat.

He pinned my wrists to the ground with his hands. "I should have done this the first night you were here. You would have been much tamer."

Fear scorched my insides, "What?"

"I should have claimed you as mine a long time ago." He took the coat off me and threw it in a corner.

I still wasn't accepting this. Was he going to… no! Not after everything. Not after I thought we were maybe starting to… no.

"You can't do this to me," I said in an attempted even tone.

My shoes were yanked off. I knew the other articles would go next.

"Don't do this," my voice was coated in terror.

He sat on his knees in front of me, pushing my legs apart. My pants weren't even off but I knew what was going to happen.

"Please…" tears ran down my face as I said his name to his face for the first time, "Ivan, don't… don't please."

He paused for a moment in his predatory state. "What did you say?"

My chest rose and fell too fast. I scrambled to remember the plea. "Don't… please."

"No," he said heartlessly. "Not right." He pushed my legs farther apart as I struggled to pull them closer together in vain.

I remembered, "Ivan! Ivan, please don't do this. Please."

"And why shouldn't I?" he stopped, but the grip on my hands was unfaltering.

"Y-You're better than this. You wouldn't. Shouldn't." I didn't look at him. I was writhing my neck in all directions, as if moving it violently enough would shake me free.

"Yet I am."

"Don't." I squirmed, the grip cutting off my circulation. "It'll hurt me please don't."

"Life is painful."

"It doesn't mean you have to make it that way!" I yelled.

"I should take you…"

I closed my eyes and waited a millisecond, waiting for him to tear off my remaining clothing. My body had a tremor run through it unevenly.

I summoned the courage to look at him. Make eye contact. Anything. I said with what I supposed to be my last breath before he did it in the strongest voice I could muster, "Don't do this, Ivan."

My captor's eyes looked into my own. I saw something in them. Regret? Pain? Why did I see those there…?

Something inside him snapped. He released me and stood in an instant, donning the coat.

"Go." He only spoke the single word. He faced his bed, away from me. Away from the door.

I was stunned. I sat up, grasping each of my wrists. I stood, carefully, not turning my back to him. Then as quick as I could, I opened the door and fled down the hall.

Something made me stop to look back. Something made me turn to see him standing, unmoving, and then crumple to his knees, head in his hands. Something cruel, some twist of fate, made me see that sight.

I ran anyways.


	10. Sickness and Snowstorms

TEN

I panted through the snow, the bandages holding new blood, no doubt. I tripped, fell, and found the strength to get up. I wasn't going to be caught by him. Not after what he had tried to do. That atrocious horrible monster! After everything that had happened to the two of us he had to go and throw it away…!

'If he was going to do it, then why did he stop…?' I asked myself. But it didn't matter. I kept running until I got to the pub. I opened the door very much in the same state I had the night I was drugged by Bad Yefrem. Francis was being restrained by Yefrem and Jakob, the bartender turning a blind eye.

"Francis." I kneeled in front of him. The others in the bar were shocked by my semi-quick return.

"Emily. I'm not going to let him hurt you."

'You can't protect me,' I thought to the naïve man. "I know, Francis. Are you okay to walk? We need… we need to get home." I stopped myself from choking on tears.

"Yes, of course ma chaton."

Yefrem asked, "Will Russia follow?"

I looked back at the door… "No."

France led the way, though I had to support him some. I was afraid my feet would catch frostbite if we were out any longer when he spotted my house.

I pushed open the front door. Everything was as I had left it. The closed chest, the two wooden chairs, the single charred log lying in the fireplace, my straw pallet waiting for my return. No fire in the hearth, just the log, sitting there, useless.

I got a match from my small precious hoard and lit it, watching it eat into the rings of the wood. Francis sat in a chair nearby, and started to sleep, lightly snoring.

I stared into the flame, calming my body. Trying to sort out my mind. Words ran through my head with memories too slowly, making me taste every single one of them with their bittersweet remembrance before the next forced me to let it go:

' "And why shouldn't I?"

"Answer me!"

"Don't lie,"

"Obviously, you know who I am."

"Come closer."

"Out for an evening stroll, da?"

"Nostalgia?"

"Your name, perhaps?"

"Never heard it put that way before…"

"You can eat the seeds,"

"What did they do to you…?"

"Open your eyes."

"Don't scare me like that again."

"I'm here. You're going to be okay." '

I closed my eyes. Those phrases went from most terrifying to a voice of the utmost care. The one that scarred me to the one that held me. I looked down at my palms, wind-burned and red. To the leg with the flesh that was healing, fast. I wished I had his coat now; even with the fire I was freezing.

Then I remembered; he had my mother's coat.

I exhaled in panic. That was her. That was her. That was her. I couldn't lose her! I couldn't. I needed her now more than ever and I had left her behind in that house-

Something caught my eye. On the chest, (which was now open, opposed to when I had come in) folded neatly, was the coat. Soft, blue, worn wool with cracked buttons. What-? Who-?

Who. I stood and looked out the window. He must be out there somewhere.

I pressed my hand to the glass, flakes of snow whirling on the other side. Then they were broken by him. He took his own hand, and matched it to mine. I could feel the warmth through the thin pane. The skin under his violet eyes was an irritated shade of red; his mouth unsure of what do to as we stared at each other from either side of the flimsy barrier.

'My captor… my protector…'

His eyebrows showed hurt, the orbs shone with tears. I still saw so many memories in them. Things I didn't know. Things I wanted to see. He looked vulnerable through the glass. Afraid. Alone.

He broke eye contact, his hand falling from the window as he looked down in defeat, starting to walk away from the house.

'No,' my mind whimpered. I found that I didn't want his hand to leave the glass. It… it didn't matter why. I didn't want him to leave.

I ran outside, not caring that I was without a coat or shoes. All I cared about was getting to the boy alone in the snow. 'He can't be alone out there!' But he was not faltering in his step. It seemed snow was his element; he wasn't slowing down. Well then, I'd have to speed up.

I ran as fast as I could through the foot-deep snow as the blizzard pounded on me from all sides. 'I'll get there… I have to…' My feet trembled in the icy powder as I pushed myself forward with nothing but will, thinking not to slow no matter what. My eyes were strained, lungs gasping for warmer air.

I managed to grab the edge of his coat, my eyelids dusted in snow. He stopped but did not turn. His scarf whipped in the wind, the coat folding around him. I timidly walked the last foot between us to get to him. He revolved to see me standing there, and I could see the frozen tears he had not wiped away. We stood there, face to face, the snow burning our skins.

My eyes closed in some kind of pain, then opened them, the snow battling my irises.

He angled himself so that I could not see his face. I wanted to know what he might be thinking. What was in those eyes.

I was freezing, but I didn't care. I just stared at him, willing him to turn to me, to say something. I put one hand to his abdomen, then lost the meaning of what I was supposed to do in a situation like this. I hugged him to me, burying my head in his upper chest, not caring.

He gazed at me, shocked at my presence. The look changed from disbelief, to shame, to another look of amazement when I said, "Ivan… don't leave."

We stood there as the white storm came down on us. I had so many questions… but I pushed the inquiries from my mind as I attempted to surround him with my arms. He felt so still, unnatural. My instincts demanded that I help him.

I pulled back from my embrace as he looked at me, violet eyes stuck somewhere between dumbfounded and awestruck.

I slightly frowned and put my hand to his cheek, wiping away half-frozen strands of salt water. He closed his eyes; trying to keep the feeling of me there in his memory.

'Dammit, Russia.' I thought. The look on his face almost broke my heart. 'Why do you hurt me so?'

The snow had begun to collect on our shoulders, telling me that it was time to go inside. I took his hand and began to lead him back to my house slowly, ignoring the cold. I stepped inside, praying that the house could survive another blast of icy air. The fire was simmering quietly in the corner, crackling a bit. Russia stood beside me, mute.

I regripped his hand and led him to the fire, where he sat quietly. Francis stirred but did not wake, and I took another small blanket and threw it over him to ensure his warmth. I took another and draped it over the Russian's shoulders.

I went and cut the bread that I had seemed to purchase a lifetime ago. I tried to appear in control, normal. It was my house after all, and I had cut bread hundreds of times before. I nicked my thumb and sucked the tip of it. 'I hate when I do that.' I had a couple small scars on my index finger and thumb from my clumsiness. It wasn't often that I would get myself, in fact I was more than capable of this. But when my mind was so occupied and I was rambling to myself, there was no telling what I could do accidentally.

I turned the faucet of the sink. Nothing.

'Dammit,' I thought. I had been keeping up with the bill, hadn't I? I had been hanging on by a thread, but I had been hanging on!

I set the knife down calmly as the bit of anger settled into my stomach. My knuckles turned white as I clutched the counter. I couldn't believe it. First the electricity, then my mom, now the water. What was going to go next, my sanity?

Well, I could give him bread. If he asked for water, I could say a pipe was loose, the water main wasn't working, something. Something other than 'I can't afford it anymore.'

I staunched the small flow with a rag by the sink and then opened the sagging cupboard to grab one of the old plates. I set the bread on it; 'pitiful' I criticized, remembering the food that he had given to me while I was staying with him. I shook my head. This was what I had, and this is what I could give. I closed it carefully, trying to avoid the creak I knew it made on the lower hinge if I tried to close it too fast.

I sat beside him on the floor, laying the plate down between us. He did not look at me, instead choosing to gaze into the flames. I touched his hand to see how he was doing from being out in the snow so long. Cold as ice.

I instinctively took his hand and rubbed it with both of mine, warming it. At the feeling of my hand on his he unexpectedly jumped a bit and his hand stiffened even more. It was only a slight tremor, but from him I knew he had been surprised. I ignored the jolt and focused on getting some blood to flow through his frozen veins. Mother used to do this for me and Francis when we had stayed out in the cold for too long and our lips had all but turned blue. I breathed a bit of warm air on the corpse-cold flesh and held it between my palms, content at the feeling of the warmth from my hands seeping into his fingertips.

As I warmed him he seemed to relax, and I gathered the courage to look at him again. I caught him studying me, eyes searching for an answer to a question that I didn't even know.

"Could I have your other hand?" I asked, looking down. He didn't know I had caught him, but to me he might as well have. He shifted his weight and surrendered it, palm up. I warmed it as I had the other one, and soon it felt was warm as a regular person's.

He went back to looking at the fire after I returned the hand to him, but he was sneaking the same questioning glance at me. "Here's some bread for you," I pushed the plate closer. "I know you must be hungry."

"You don't have to be so hospitable," he stated, his gaze not faltering from the fire. His voice was stony, coarse, and blunt. "We both know I deserve to stay out in the snow. Freeze."

Part of me agreed. It hated him, and all he had done. It hated every fiber of his being. It wanted me to push him in the fire and then extinguish him by smashing him headfirst into the foot-deep snow and blizzard outside. But I knew that as strong as that feeling was, the small whisper of forgiveness that I kept with me never could. Damn it.

It was useless to reply. I knew he was saying the truth. He bit the bread, chewed, and swallowed. I was, in a word, wordless.

Then he said, "I know you'll never forgive me for what I almost did. I know I can apologize as much as I wish, but I do not deserve to be redeemed. I've done… horrible things. Things I would take back in a heartbeat… but they've been done, and I must come to terms with all of them."

The eyes did not face me. Shame?

I couldn't say it was fine, nor that it was alright. I couldn't say I was going to forgive him, either.

Francis stirred again in his sleep and moaned in pain. I was immediately by his side. I put my hand to his forehead, and felt that he had what seemed to be a light fever.

I gently raised him from the chair and laid him on my straw pallet. His eyes were shut tight, as if he was scrunching up his face. I put all of my blankets on him, save for the one I had put over Russia. "You'll be alright, Francis," I assured him, but I was really telling myself. "It'll pass by morning."

I spent the night melting snow over the fire in an old bucket into usable water using an old spit and tending to my sleeping friend. I kept the bucket by the bedside, cooling Francis with a rag dipped in the water. His breathing was a bit shallow and unstable. The fever was getting worse by the hour and I was getting desperate. I didn't know what to do.

The Russian had fallen asleep by the fire. He had lapsed into sleep while sitting up, head drooped forwards in a position that I knew would give him a headache in the morning. I had gently leaned him over so he was on his side, and covered him with the blanket.

It was freezing in the house, even with the fire. I put yet another log on the flame, dragging my pallet closer to it, trying to get Francis as warm as possible without catching his bed on fire. Another bucket of snow was hanging over the flame, slowly beginning to be melted and purified into drinking water.

I patted down his forehead for the umpteenth time, wiping away the impossible sweat from his brow in a panic. It was too cold for him to be sweating. Far too cold. "You're going to be okay Francis. You have to be. You can't leave me. Not now."

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Russia. He looked somewhat confused, like he was questioning my actions.

Since he offered nothing but the look of intrigue I turned from him and shh-ed my sleeping friend as he began to thrash in his tumultuous slumber, fighting off an illness and a rising fever. I stroked his cheek saying in a rushed voice, "It's alright Francis; it'll break soon. It has to."

Russia took the rag from the rim of the bucket where it had been hanging and gave it to me, knowing that I would want to dab his forehead again.

"Thank you."

"While I am here I will be of service to you," he stated, taking the rag from me, then soaking and wringing it out. "I will do what you ask of me."

I didn't look up from my patient. "You don't need to-"

"Yes, I do." I glanced up to question him. He still wouldn't look me in the eyes. After wiping Francis's brow he took the cloth from me and returned it to the rim of the bucket.

Anxiety was pouring from me. I had to resolve at least one problem. So I got up, took a glass from the counter, and filled it with the water that I had put near the door to cool. I brought it to Russia, hoping that he would accept it so I could stop worrying about him trying to get water by himself from an empty faucet.

"I was raised under the principle that while you are in the care of another you are to obey them," he stated unexpectedly. "I will uphold that."

I paused in giving him the cup. "You don't need to pretend you're a stranger, Russia. You don't have to obey me. Here." I passed him the water, which he looked at but did not drink.

He instead set it on the ground, and then asked, "Why are you so distressed over Francis?"

I gave him an incredulous look and instead of answering gave him a question, "When you found me lying in the snow, why were you so distressed?"

"Because I am attached to you."

"Well, I am attached to Francis." I touched my hand to his forehead to see if he had gotten any better. It felt like he was as hot as an iron. I bit my lip and suddenly remembered my mother's herbs. I ran to the cupboard, climbing onto the shaky counter. She must have had something… I opened one of the doors on the upper level of the cabinets to where she had kept crude homemade medicines.

" 'For stomachache', 'for headache'…" the one marked 'for fever' was almost empty. I grabbed the jar and pried the lid open.

"You are? Like I am to you?"

"Yes, Russia. Attached. Like you are to me." I echoed as if he was a child. I got some of the boiling water into a cup and steeped the last of the herbs into it.

"Oh. Then… why do you not wish for me to leave?"

I was too frustrated to answer questions that were neither leading to any relevant conclusion nor were useful to me. I instead swirled the leaves and ground roots into the water with a spoon.

"Would you answer me?" The tone was cautious.

"What has made you so afraid?" I asked, not answering the previous questions.

"My attachment."

I was cold and harsh with him. "How does it make you afraid?"

He replied softly, slowly, and with supposed honesty. "Because the thing that I am attached to is not something easily kept, secured, and made safe."

Something about the statement made my body tremor. I saw that the herbs had darkened the water and it was ready. I sat on my knees my Francis, lifting his head into my lap. I touched the rim of the cup to his lips.

He murmured something to me but I shushed him, saying, "Drink this."

Francis dutifully opened his mouth, and I poured a small amount of what I knew to be a bitter foul tasting liquid in. He cringed but swallowed, opening again to accept more. I tilted the cup further. "It'll get your fever to break," I explained to him as he swallowed again. I elevated his head a bit more, him drinking as I gave the tea to him.

Soon the cup was empty and I simply sat by Francis's side and held his hand. "Be alright, my friend." He closed his eyes in a wordless reply and lapsed into sleep.

"I know he will be fine." The Russian sat cross-legged on the floor on the other side of the hearth.

"How can you just say that?" I held my head in my hands.

"I trust your treatment. It seems to calm his sleeping, at least."

"I don't know if that was enough herbs for it to work. If he gets worse…" I didn't dare to continue with my sentence. I stroked Francis's palm, trying not to think of the consequences.


	11. Into the Blizzard

ELEVEN

The Sun rose, but in the house it was still night. I pulled the worn curtain in front of the only dusty window in the house, blocking out the light. Russia watched me closely, eyes boring into the back of my head. But when I turned he would quickly look down for some reason. He was being confusing again. At least this time confusion didn't come with thirty-seven stitches on my leg.

I paced the floor. Francis's fever had not gotten worse, but he had not woken up either.

The whole day was silent, and for me, crucial and frantic. Time moved fast around us and soon natural light was fading, plunging us back into darkness.

I sat by his side, head bowed, praying that he would be okay. I hummed the childhood song to him. The song that I had meant to sing with him the day I was taken. If I had made it inside his house… this all would have been different.

I hummed the melody softly, but it echoed in the room. I put my hand on his, willing my best friend to get better.

Francis stirred, waking from sleep with a gasp; brow covered in sweat. In an instant I was wiping his forehead clean of the liquid. "Hey, Francis."

"Emily," he smiled, laying back onto the pallet. "You're alright, ma chaton. What happened?"

"You got a fever," I explained, "But it looks like its breaking. You're going to be fine, I promise."

"Of course I'll be alright. I'm Francis, remember?"

"I know, I know." I pushed the bucket and rag away. I wouldn't have to use them again. "I'm just glad you're okay. Don't worry me like that."

"Russia? What are you doing here?" Francis looked past me, rage beginning to show.

"Francis, he's just here, as a guest."

Russia sat up straighter, looking my sick friend over with an air of confidence.

Francis looked to me, "He can't stay here. Not after kidnapping you. How can you allow him to stay?"

Francis didn't know the half of it. The stitches on my legs, the eventual scar that my sleeve hid. How he had pinned me to his floor, intentions fully known…

"He hasn't caused any trouble," I said quietly.

"What do you mean?" for a sick man the cry was harsh and far too angry.

I calmed him. "Francis, please."

"I'll leave," the Russian in question stood. "I'm disturbing his healing, and yours."

Francis sneered, "Go then. And don't you ever dare set another foot towards her!"

I sat, eyes downcast, frozen like stone. Dammit why couldn't something come out of my mouth? I… I wasn't sure of what to say.

'Say something you idiot!' I demanded of myself, but nothing came. Why was I mute? I had to… I had to do something!

But no. I could not obey myself, and all I could do was stare, begging him not to leave with my eyes.

"Da Svedanya." He did not look me in the eyes, not even glancing up from the floor. If only he had… he would have seen my expression and never would have thought of going out there. The door opened, letting in a blast of icy air, and then closed.

I gazed back to Francis.

"He won't ever do anything to you ever again," pride shone in his blue eyes. "I'll protect you."

Again, my mind said that Francis couldn't do anything to help me if the Russian had decided to take me with him or harm me. But Francis didn't know that. And half of me wanted to strangle him where he sat for sending the Ruskie away.

'Dammit why do you care why do you care why do you care?' My logical side began to battle with the side that showed affection for him.

"Emily, you are my dearest friend," Francis wrapped him arms around me. Protecting me. "I will keep you safe from whatever comes your way."

The forgiving side of me began to fade in the strong embrace. I felt like I wasn't fighting anymore… I felt peace. It was quiet, soft, gentle.

Francis continued, "I promise you. I will never let anything happen to you ever again."

I felt myself tighten in the hold. Something was off. But… nothing was. I was with my best friend. He would take care of me. I would take care of him.

So why was everything about me stiffening, resisting, fighting? My mind was finally resting.

"Emily? Emilia? Ma chaton?" the voice behind me pleaded with concern and care. I heard Francis sigh. "I do not know what happened. Something between the two of you… I am smart enough to realize when you are not yourself."

"A lot of things happened," I choked out.

"I will listen to all them."

I poured it all out to him. Moment by moment, admitting to everything I was confused about, and trying to piece together the parts that I could not remember. The seconds that I paused on most were the ones where I wasn't sure how he felt, and how I had felt. Us in the mirror. The glass room of sunflowers. Waking up next to him…

"Emilia…" Francis kept gentle eye contact as I lapsed in and out of memory. I slowly continued the story and told him about what had happened after Russia had knocked him out.

He grit his teeth, but was as surprised as I had been when I relayed that he hadn't followed through on his claim.

Francis clarified, "So he didn't, then."

"No."

"Does he still scare you?"

"A bit."

"Understandable. He scares a lot of people."

"I just don't get it Francis… before he was… and now… he's different."

Francis tilted his head to the side. "How so?"

"He wouldn't look me in the eyes. Said that while he was here he would… 'obey me'. And he seemed off. Not himself at all."

"He was ashamed," Francis said easily. "As well he should be."

I looked down at the ground, fully agreeing. "The bastard."

"But the fact that he's ashamed shows he cares…"

"I know he cares. He's told me he cares, Francis. That he was attached." I put my head in my hands. "Everything in me is just messed up. It's me."

Francis sighed, "I think you need a couple days, just as I do, to collect your thoughts and get well."

I nodded in silent agreement. A couple days. Clear my head.

~o~

I didn't talk much in the two days that followed. I sat, tended the fire, and slept. It was so, so cold in the small one-room house. So freezing that I was afraid to do as much as open the door, for fear of catching hypothermia in my own home. And I hadn't had the need to open the door at all. I didn't step outside of the doorframe once in that space of time.

Francis had returned home the day before. I had feigned stability for him, so he could go back to his house and get the attention he needed. The herbs had broken the fever, but a hoarse cough had started in the back of his throat and I didn't want it getting any worse.

He had hugged me goodbye, saying that if anything was wrong just to call him.

I didn't say, 'I haven't paid that bill in months, Francis…' like I should have. I just couldn't tell him the pitiful truth.

I had only hugged him tight, sending him on his way with a piece of bread to eat during his travels.

It had been a day since my friend had left, and the house seemed as cold as ever, unforgiving rays of icy light shooting their way in through the small holes in the ceiling and walls.

My movements were by now well known and mechanical. Lug another log on the flame, melt the snow, drink some water, eat some bread. Don't think about anything. Try to ignore your own thoughts… you seem to do that so well.

The third day, someone knocked on the door.

I got up and opened it.

"Chicklet?"

"Yefrem?" I looked behind him, "Jakob? What are you doing here?"

"May we come in? It's freezing."

"Of course," I let them inside and shut the door behind them. I immediately ran to get two glasses and filled them with water from the bucket of boiled snow.

They accepted the drinks, and I ran off to put some more wood on the fire.

"No need to rush about, love," Jakob said calmly as I poked the log into the quieting blaze. "We came to check on you."

"Why?" I tried to sound happy, content, but yet surprised and pleased that I got to see them. "I'm fine, guys! Haha, everything's just getting back to normal."

"I see," Yefrem scanned the house; then started to sip the water. I knew it was a wreck, barely staying together, and felt a twinge of my self-consciousness.

Jakob patted my shoulder. "You aren't a very good liar, love."

I froze, thinking: 'Liar. Am I going to get in trouble for lying?' I shook the thoughts out of my head. I wasn't there anymore. I could lie. I could lie all I wanted.

"I'm not lying," I told them, loving the feeling of the quicksilver slipping off my tongue. "Sorry for what a mess this shack is. I'm renting while I find a better place."

"You don't live here?" Jakob asked.

I laughed, "This old dump? Never! I've hardly moved in, and I don't plan to get even more comfy here." It looked that way anyway, since I didn't have much as far as material possessions. Not a hard sell.

"Oh," Yefrem replied. "Well… we had some news… we didn't know if you could help."

"So, what's the problem?" I asked.

"It's Braginski." Jakob said urgently. "He's barricaded himself in his house. I even brought him his favorite house-made vodka from the pub, but he'll have none of it. We haven't heard a sound from there in days now… not since you left."

I had tensed up at the mere mention of his name. 'Keep all the feelings away… the chaos… go away…' but when they said they hadn't heard a sound in days…

"What can I do?" it was a statement more than a question on my part, and a determined statement at that.

"He would see you," Yefrem said suddenly.

Jakob nodded his bald head to confirm it. "We all know he'd let you in."

The other continued, "It's deathly quiet over there. It's worrying."

"It really is."

I bit my lips more and more with each word said. Russia… all alone in the big house… deathly quiet…

"I'll… I'll think about it. Thank you."

Jakob nodded to me, and Yefrem gave me a solemn look while turning to the door.

I let them out, shutting the door after them.

I slid to the floor, burying into myself, curling up as tight as I could. So much for calming myself. So much for making sense of everything.

Or maybe…

Maybe I could… could ask him. Ask the instigator of all the chaos. Maybe.

~o~

"Thank you for telling us where she was. We've been worried about the little Chicklet."

"This needs to be cleared up," Francis sighed, rubbing his temples. "Well… from what she's told me, and from how Russia's doing now, we can tell that this wouldn't end well if we left it the way it was."

"How so?" asked Jakob.

"He's heartbroken, Jakob." Francis looked out over the snow. "People do stupid things when their hearts break."

~o~

I didn't know how to prepare for this.

Is there a way I could possibly attempt to prepare for it?

If there was… I didn't know how.

The blue-grey coat fit around me almost perfectly. I slipped on my only hat and changed my bandages everywhere. I took a long, deep breath, and blew it out quickly.

'You can do this. You can go back to make sure he's alright. Just a little visit. Nothing's going to happen'

I looked at the door. The handle. The wood.

'Stop looking and open it, idiot!'

I made my hands graze over the wooden knob. 'Turn it…' My hand grabbed, turned, and I opened the door to a blizzard.

'That's it game over no way I'm getting there!' My logical side said.

The other side turned manipulative on me. That cruel side that told me to forgive and let go. 'Think about him… he's stuck inside all alone. So sad. Weak, almost. He misses you dearly, and you're going to let a little white powder get in the way? What a selfish little thought.'

I groaned to myself and forced my legs to move me through the snow.

It was some little walk. White flakes attempting to blind me, harsh winds making it almost impossible to breathe. Trying not to feel creeping frostbite start to nip at my toes and heels.

I headed for the lights I knew to be the town containing Jakob's pub. I could follow the road from there.

I stumbled onto a miracle: part of the road had been cleared. Wait… what? I noticed a small red ribbon lying in a snowdrift. I saw it was tied to a note. But… to whom?

I turned it over a couple of times in my hands, debating whether to open it or not. A gust of cold biting wind drove me to just open it to satisfy my curiosity.

"Dear Chicklet,

Just helping you on your way. You are very brave. Visit the pub soon if you wish. I hope the snow does not cover up my work. All the same, the work is really yours. You have a difficult task ahead. But I know you can do it.

Yefrem."

'Helping me on my way… Yefrem cleared the road?' I looked to the narrow gap that was beginning to fill again. With the invasive white substance. 'Well… I'm not going to let his work be in vain.' I kept plodding through the drift of blinding flakes. My hands were burrowed deep into the pockets of my Mother's coat but I still felt the bite of winter on my fingers. I flexed them, testing the knuckles, begging them not to freeze in my mind.

There was a difficult task ahead, he had told me in his small letter.

I started thinking about what I was supposed to do anyways. What kind of task did I need to complete? Talk to him? Comfort him? Take care of him? Beat the shit out of him and screw his head on straight?

I walked along the road steadily, not faltering in my steps. If I had gotten this far, I wasn't going to turn back.

I saw that two guards were at the gate, shivering.

I approached them, head held high, cheeks and nose whipped red from the wind.

"You cannot pass."

"Oh?"

"No. Russia will see no one."

"He will see me," I replied confidently.

"No, he will not."

Well, I was going t have to get past them somehow. They were the ones with the guns, not me.

But… maybe I didn't need a weapon like that.

I looked them both in the eyes with a gaze of superiority. I was by no means higher than them, but I knew they had gotten a similar brand of intimidation from Russia, and the same look could serve me well if used properly.

"Guards, I assure you at this moment Russia is inside that house. And if I do not get in there and something were to happen because of my absence, the fault would be yours."

"Nothing will happen."

I asked myself, 'What would he say?'

"You will grant me entry. If you do not then I will return and this time you will not be the only ones armed." I made my eyes burn with threat and rage. They immediately lowered their guns as I gave them that rough, intimidating look. Then I raised my chin and glanced at them through half-lidded eyes, almost sneering.

I straightened my back and nodded to them as I walked past. "Good choice. Now back to your posts!"

I looked behind me to see the two automatically straighten at the sound of the authoritarian order.

I saw more and more guards as I made my way to the door to his house. At the portal, I did not stop at all to ask permission to enter. I simply did. A guard questioned after me; but it was merely half-hearted. As I padded down the hall, feeling the numbness retreating from my hands and feet, I began to walk faster. The snow and ice began to melt from my hair. The snow flaked off as I moved forwards, aiming for his room.

The guard at his door did not address me, and I made no attempt to make contact or share a cordial word with him. I knocked on the door.

"He is not there."

"Where then?" I asked the guard.

He said quietly, "The sunflower room. He said he was planning to burn them all."


	12. Sunflowers

проклятиеи= damn it!

Я настолько глуп!=I'm so stupid!

конфетка=sweetie

красивый=beautiful

Я тебя люблю=i love you

* * *

TWELVE

I ran as fast as my feet would carry me. His sunflowers? He loved the sunflowers! Why would he-?

My train of thought remained unfinished for now because I smelled something burning coming from down the hall. I rushed toward it against my better instincts and threw open the door, a cloud of smoke enveloping me.

I coughed, stinging air meeting my eyes. I went to the ground where the concentration of it was thinner and crawled. I saw him, standing, motionless, a box of matches in hand; a small tank of gasoline and the pipe in the other. An axe lay on the floor, but bore no blood.

In front of him were a pile of sunflowers, burning. I looked to my left and right against my watering eyes, seeing the mangled stalks of sunflowers that surrounded me like carnage from a battle. A few sunflowers remained standing, but just barely. And most of the ones that were standing were cut in the middle, the upper part of the stem and the flower itself bowed over like their would-be spine was broken and mangled.

He had not noticed my presence, or if he did, he did neither recognize it nor care.

He emptied more of the gasoline in the tank onto the pile. The rest of him was motionless, frozen.

He was saying something to himself quietly as the gasoline engulfed the flowers. I couldn't understand the distressed mutterings, but then it turned into a wail of, " Я НАСТОЛЬКО ГЛУП!" He threw more of the flammable liquid onto the flowers."проклятие!"

I hacked a cough as the smoke seemed to clog my throat. "Rusk!"

He must have not heard me over the loud roar of the bonfire because he stood, tensed, mesmerized by the product of his own destruction. The empty gas can made a hollow sound as he let it fall to the ground.

I coughed again, eyes spilling over with tears from the smoke. The whole room tasted of ash and anger.

"Russia!"

He turned sharply to see me, features outlined in rage. My eyes grew wide from my place on the stone floor.

"You… get out of here!" His voice bellowed through the glass room. "Get out!"

I stayed where I was, on all fours, crouched low on the floor. I looked down in blatant disobedience.

I heard the sound of shoes moving without sure determination across the stone. Then I saw his boots in front of my head. I raised my head the slightest bit to confirm that it was his shoes, and then I looked down again. He could do what he wanted. He could chop me to pieces like his precious sunflowers; he could pour the gasoline over me and flick a match.

But just him standing there, boots glaring at me, was killing me inside. 'Just hurt me,' I pleaded in my mind. 'Just hurt me and get it over with.'

"проклятиеи… why?"

I tensed, waiting for the blow I knew that was going to come.

"Why are you here?" The question was a demand. Anguish and torment coated his vocal chords.

The smoke covered my trachea, making it hard to speak. How could he be so immune to the fumes? I stuttered out something. I'm not even sure what I said, but the guttural sound I made sense in neither Russian nor English.

A hand grabbed the nape of my neck.

'It'll be fast you won't feel a thing it'll all be over forever it's just a moment just a moment of pain then nothing,' my mind said in a fast, scared voice. 'Just a snap and a crack and then you'll be gone forever no more house with a leaky roof no more bills that you can't pay no more people trying to hurt you no more no more no more…'

I was hyperventilating at the touch, feeling death was close by, waiting for me.

The hand moved to my collar and dragged me to stand, the smoke immediately blinding me. I coughed and struggled and choked from the tightness of the fabric around my neck and the toxins flowing in and out of my lungs.

"Why are you here?" the voice shouted death, anger, betrayal, destruction. He shook me. "WHY?"

" I had… I h-had to make," I was interrupted by a bout of coughing, "to make sure you were alright."

The hand on my collar loosened for a moment, then gripped harder. I let out a choked cry.

"Well? Am I, Emily?"

"N-no," I answered, words quavering. I coughed, choked, tried to ignore the sticky feeling of the smog on my esophagus.

"And what can you do about it?" he threw me to the floor. I could finally open my eyes. His teeth were bared, brow furrowed, everything showing me rage. The violet eyes were red and irritated with smoke, knuckles white from gripping the pipe. "You make it all WORSE! YOU TEAR ME APART AT THE SEAMS!"

I resisted the urge to flinch at each of the bladed words. I held my hand over the traitorous eyes that spilled over with tears, "Zhalb, zhalb, zhalb, zhalb…." Was the only word I could summon, wishing I could die right there, surrounded with empty sunflower carcasses and browning cast off leaves as I gasped out my apology. "Zhalb… zhalb…" I folded my legs under me, my nose touching the ground, arms folded around my head. "Zhalb, Russia, zhalb."

"Go."

My body trembled in the deepest anguish. No.

"Leave me."

I could not.

"Get out."

I would not.

"Why do you so wish to stay?" I did not look up. His tone was angry, confused, taunted. "You do not wish to be near me. You made no motion for me to stay earlier. You have no attachment to me!"

I had no more strength, no more determination, no more drive. I could not speak nor think clearly enough to answer coherently. I laid there on his floor, wishing that this could be over… this chaos.

But I was stuck in Hell… the fire casting off waves of heat, making me sweat, smoke seeming to clog every pore and opening in my body.

"Please," I begged, raising my head to look at him. "Please…" I didn't even know what I was asking for.

All I could think was, 'Where is he? Where is he? Where is my Russia?'

His eyes did not soften. His demeanor did not change.

"Have I lost you forever?" A quiet breathy sentence reached his ears… and he turned away in disdain.

I shut my eyes. As much as I wished to, I could not pass out, and I could not die. Why had I come here? To 'check up' on him? After I had just let him go…? What was my reasoning? My logic?

Did those even exist anymore?

I confused him. I refused him, ran away from him, enjoyed him, protected him, betrayed him. I was the one to blame. All along, maybe. Maybe this was all what I deserved from the beginning. I was the monster, and the confused - and in turn - enraged creature in front me was one that I had twisted myself. Or… had he already been that way, and I had warped him that much more?

He picked up the axe and the pipe, exiting the room, not giving me as much as a sidelong glance. The fire was dying from the lack of fresh gasoline, and the smoke did no longer seem to suffocate me harshly.

The door closed with a bang, leaving me alone in there. He had left… he had left me here, alone and untouched. Left me in a room of growing toxic fumes, ready to take the life from my body. But the smoke was not where my mind was. He had slammed the door… he had left me here…

And I cared.

I cared.

I had hurt him.

He was doing what he should.

Ignoring me.

Getting me out of his mind.

His life.

His house, at least.

But… I am selfish… I WANT him…

My eyes shot open at the mere thought of it. I repeated it. 'I want him.' I wanted him like he had wanted me; and now the tables had turned. Cruel, cruel.

What could I possibly do?

I weakly crawled, opened the door, and sat out in the hall, where the air was cleaner. I coughed more, trying to get the taste of smoke out of my mouth.

I passed out there from the smoke in my lungs, lying up against the door.

A while later I woke, unmoved from that spot.

My first thoughts were not of myself but of the Russian.

Where was he?

Was he okay?

I… I had to do something.

I had to tell him.

Tell him I cared.

Tell him I was VERY attached.

Tell him… tell him…

"DAMMIT!" I yelled, the sound reverberating through the hall. "SAY IT!"

Damn pride! Say it! Say it!

But I would not say those three fucking words. I ran through the house in a blind frustration, not knowing in which direction I was going. I found myself panting at his door a couple minutes solely by chance… or perhaps I had found my way there subconsciously.

The guard tried to remain stoic but asked, "Are you alright?"

I looked him in the eyes, then coughed from residual smoke. "I will be."

"The door is locked."

I almost smiled. Merely a locked door? It was barely a threat to me… a thin oaken plank of wood with a locked handle. I knew it was stupid and I had the likely possibility of dislocating my shoulder. But with a small running start and gritted teeth, I crashed through the door.

I tumbled to the ground, finding a pipe to my throat as soon as I was able to raise my head.

"R-Rus-"

The pipe jabbed at my throat as splinters of wood dug into my palms and knees.

I took a deep, shaky breath. "R-Russi-"

"What else can you do to hurt me?" He yelled. "What other wounds have you come to inflict? Have you not caused me enough suffering already? Do you still want to see me writhe in even more searing pain?"

I stood, pipe still at my throat, and narrowed my eyes. I could do this. I had to.

I put a strong right hand on the pipe and pushed it away from my throat, using the moment of freedom to lunge at him, locking his lips with mine.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down, and when he gasped in surprise I invaded his mouth with my tongue.

The passive demeanor did not last long. He dropped the pipe, bringing both of his hands to wrap around me, locking my body in place against his. His tongue fought against mine, and I struggled for dominance. I took my hands and braced them against his chest, inching up to grip his shoulders all the tighter.

I drew back for breath, but he gave me only a short moment's reprieve before reaching up to tangle his fingers in my hair and press me forward to meet him again.

I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms as tight as they would go around him. How long had I wanted to do this?

Still my tongue fought with his as he tried to maneuver past my tongue and lips. Soon I ran out of resistance and gave into his will, letting him slide his hand around my waist and the other around my neck, to my chin, as he took control of my mouth.

He drew back suddenly, leaving me dazed and somehow yearning for more of him. He looked me in the eyes for the first time since I had let him into my house. "What are you trying to do?" he was half angry, half confused.

"I'm trying to tell you… I'm trying to tell you I love you."

"Damn you…" he whispered as he lightly kissed my ear.

"I love you," those words. They dropped out my mouth so easily now. "I love you."

"Shh…" he kissed my forehead, nose, neck. But I wanted those lips again.

I pulled myself up and captured his mouth, feeling him smile though the kiss. This was so different from the last time he kissed me, when I was weak and bleeding and tied, only half aware of my actions.

Now, I wanted this. I wanted him.

"конфетк," he whispered in-between the kisses, "красивый."

I didn't understand what he was saying but I loved it anyways. I loved those words, his voice, him.

I looked into those deep purple eyes, and I knew it was going to be okay. I kissed him one more time with all the emotion I could muster.

After the kiss was broken, he stroked my cheek with one of his thumbs, gently whispering:"Я тебя люблю."

* * *

Alright guys. I tried to continue this story as per readers' request but it simply was not a good idea. I realize this. If you enjoyed the extended story, thank you for that. But truly I know inside that the story ends here. So this is what I am offering to you.

Thanks for a great ride. Reviews are cherished.

You guys are the best. I hope that you check out/enjoy Syringe to the Heart, which I am in the process of posting (I have completed the fic itself). If you want Russian Compromise in its entirety with the extension, even though it's unfinished, PM me your email and I would be more than happy to get it to you.

~Rose


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